Can't Wait 'Til Tomorrow
by DanniFielding
Summary: Sherlock's dead. He jumped off the top of St Bart's and out of her life forever. But Faye can't believe that he would leave her alone, not now. Enter The Empty Hearse. Sequel to 'Some Kind of Mysterious'. Sherlock/OC
1. The Funeral

You wanted a sequel? :P

_~0~0~0~_

John Watson sighed in utter relief as he spotted Faye Newbarns sat cross-legged on the grass, staring at the black head stone. He slowly approached, gently sitting on the ground next to her and adopting the same pose. He should have known to go there; there was no place she'd rather be. Typically for Britain at any time of year, the day was overcast, the threat of rain in the grey clouds but the only moisture on the ground was left over from the day before.

"We've been looking for you." He scolded quietly, feeling like he should act angry when was just incredibly relieved that she wasn't on the roof of St Bart's again.

"If he was here, he'd have found me in seconds." She replied just as quietly, adding a little shrug into the conversation whilst not looking away from the golden 'Sherlock Holmes' carved into the black marble.

"He was the best as what he did." John agreed.

"Even his death was spectacular." She reached forward, tracing the lettering with her fingertip, "Why did he leave me, John?"

"I don't know." He replied honestly, "You were the only one who had a chance at seeing how his mind worked."

"That's not true." She corrected, "Jim Moriarty did a fine job before blowing his own brains out of his skull." Another figure joined them on the other side of her, the sight of Mycroft Holmes sitting on the grass startling John into silence.

"You shouldn't run off." Mycroft stated in the same indifferent tone he always used, "It's rather troublesome."

"I've been here..." She looked at her watched, "36 minutes. Your team used to be able to find me in half that."

"Sometimes it's best to not find the lost straight away. Sometimes people are best left alone." He explained ominously. He knew how John had been following her around since his brother's untimely death, constantly checking up on her, making sure she ate and slept right. Always asking where she was going, for how long and such things that he knew would make her feel suffocated. They were also points she would never raise with the ex-army doctor and neither would he.

"Sherlock was alone." She retorted harshly, waving a hand at the headstone, "And look how well it worked for him." She sniffed, tears flowing yet again, "He shouldn't have been on his own. I should have been there. I let him down." She began sobbing softly, pulling her knees to her chest as John wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her an awkward hug.

"You don't let him down." He reassured her firmly, "He loved you in his own, psychotic way."

"Sociopathic." She corrected with a wet laugh, a nod to the way he would always correct anyone who called him psychotic._ 'I'm not a __psychopath__, I'm a high-functioning sociopath.'_ The memory made her smile, a bitter-sweet one, but a smile nonetheless.

"Sorry, _sociopathic_ way." He replied. She sobered up slightly, running her hand through the turf that had been used to cover up the whole his body laid in.

"Then why did he leave me?" She whispered. John sighed, lost for an answer, so he just gave her shoulders a tighter squeeze. Mycroft patted her hand, his touch lingering a fraction longer than he was known for, then he stood up, brushing himself down, back in business mode once more.

"Now we know that Miss Newbarns is safe and unharmed." He stated authoritatively, "Perhaps we should give her some time with her thoughts?" It sounded like a suggestion, but John knew it was more of a command so he stood up, pattering her on the shoulder as he did.

"I'll come back in about 30 minutes and take you home." He explained gently.

"ot necessary. A member of my team will be here when she's ready." Mycroft interrupted. He needed to feel useful, make up for the huge betrayal he'd acted out towards her. The regret he held over telling Moriarty about her was evident even to John. Every time someone asked her about her 'boyfriend Richard Brook', he always came to see her. Some weeks his visits were almost daily, and he had set in motion the corrections in the papers to try and change public opinion that she was dating Moriarty. John had seen him work tirelessly to make up to her what he couldn't for his brother, and he knew how much Faye needed it so he once again didn't protest. She didn't say goodbye, didn't even look back as they left her on the damp floor.

"Why did you leave me, Sherlock?" She whispered, asking the same question again, "I never believed for one second you were a fraud. There had to be a better way. I might have been able to help, you never know." She sighed, shaking her head, "It's too late now, I suppose." She laughed hollowly to herself, "You'd tell me off for talking to a piece of marble." She shifted, leaning her back against the headstone, next to his name. It wasn't even his full name, only a handful of people knew it and he'd have hated it broadcast to the world. Enough details of his life were public knowledge, his name could stay his secret.

"You're going to hate this." She commented before rolling her eyes. As if he could hear her now, "_Know no fear, I'll still be here tomorrow. Bend my ear, I'm not going to go away. You are love so why do you shed a tear. Know no fear you will see heaven from here._" She sniffed, wiping her eyes, "_I'll shelter you, I'll make it a__l__l right to cry. And you'll help too, because the faith in myself has run dry. We are love, don't let it fall on deaf ears. Now it's clear. W__e__ have seen heaven from here._" Her voice broke as she collapsed into gut-wrenching sobs, curling up on the grass as her grief shook her to her very core.

"Please, she begged, "Please Sherlock. Please don't be dead."

_~0~0~0~_

Next to his grave was the beginning of a wooded area, where Molly Hooper hid, watching the devastated woman as she sobbed herself into an exhausted sleep, begging anyone who would listen to bring back the man she loved. She turned away, unable to watch her friend fall apart so opening and saw a very-much-alive Sherlock Holmes shaking, tears built up in his eyes as his fists clenched at his side.

"Go tell her." Molly whispered compassionately. He briefly considered it, this was his opportunity to let her know he was there, he hadn't left her, not really. But, he shook his head once.

"She can't know." He replied hoarsely, "She needs to be like this for the world to believe I am dead. She's safer this way."

"Only from the bad guys." Molly murmured.

"She will be fine. John will see to that." He snapped back, "I need to go to Belarus, book me a flight." He stood up, stalking away before pausing, looking back at the woman sleeping on his empty grace. He rolled his eyes at his own sentimentality before diving out into the open, shrugging his long coat off and draping it over her prone form. He then stalked through the woods, ignoring Molly who watched him sadly before following.


	2. What Faye Did Next

Faye's phone rang only a couple of footsteps away from the front door of Baker Street. She rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh and answered it, tucking it in the crook of her shoulder as she fished in her pocket for her keys.

"Yes, John?" She drawled.

"_Where are you?_" Was his immediate answer and she rattled the keys near her head pointedly.

"Literally just about to open the door." She replied as calmly as she could, "Shouldn't you be at work?" She unlocked the front door, hauling in the shopping bags she had with one hand, pocketing the keys with the other.

"_Where did you go?_" He asked as she headed up the stairs, glancing almost longingly at the door to 221C. Why did she agree to move in with him again?

"Just out, John." She shook her head, "I'm right outside the flat, why are we still on the phone?" She hung up on him, growling gently to herself as she tried to calm down before entering the flat.

"Faye? Faye?" John was asking into his phone.

"I'm right here, John." She told him, putting her bags onto the sofa, "I went out this morning. Why aren't you at work?"

"Why didn't you tell me where you were going?" He asked in reply.

"Because you were at work." She explained slowly, "Where you should be, now." She sighed, "Did you quit another job?" He nodded at the bags.

"You went shopping?" He asked her, practically admitting his guilt and she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"You can't just keep quitting every job just because you want the freedom we had before." She said quietly, "We can't have that anymore. And you _can't_ keep following me around everywhere."

"I'm not following you anywhere." He scoffed and she raised an eyebrow.

"How long after you got home did you ring me?" She asked, and he looked down, "John? How long?"

"You weren't here." He protested, "Do you blame me? You were on top of the bloody building."

"I know." She interrupted, but he wasn't done.

"On the roof of St Bart's, dangling your legs over. Jesus Christ, Faye, I thought you were going to jump too."

"I know!" She exclaimed before taking another breath, "I know." She repeated, calmer this time, "But I'm not, am I? I've tried the topping myself thing, and it never worked. I never died, and I never felt any better." She walked over, taking his hands and forcing him to look at her. He was taking this harder than she was, in some respects. He was so paranoid everyone was going to leave him behind as well.

"But Sherlock..."

"Sherlock was bloody stubborn." She interrupted, "And even if we'd made it onto the roof, if it was what he wanted he still would have jumped. He still would have..." She trailed off, forcing herself not to cry again. She'd been doing well, she woke up every morning already weeping softly to herself, but during the day it had lessened somewhat, "He still would have died. And I understand, I really do. It makes me not want to wake up again when I go to sleep, but I do. Every morning."

"I don't want to lose you too." He almost whimpered and she pulled her friend into a tight hug.

"I need some space, though." She told him, "Maybe I should go stay at Mycroft's for a bit." He shook his head, pulling back.

"No, there's no need for that." He exclaimed quickly, "I suppose I have been a bit overbearing." He admitted and she smirked triumphantly, having had no plans to go to Mycroft's at all, "I'll stop, I promise. Just, maybe, you know, leave a note or something." She nodded, giving him the 'Scouts Honour' sign.

"Will do." She walked over, picking up the bags, "Right, I'm gonna put this away then I think I'll have a lie down." He frowned, concerned.

"Are you still feeling ill?" She'd been kept up at night for the last week or so, being sick or feeling sickly generally. She shot him a pointed look.

"John..." She trailed off in warning, having not wanted to talk about it. Just another reaction to being alone at night, she had told him time and time again. She was just getting used to falling asleep with Sherlock being there. It was hard, and she was always going to hit some kind of barrier. This one just happened to be... messier than it could have been.

"Sorry." He held his hands up in defence, "I'm a doctor, I can't help it." She rolled her eyes, more in amusement than before and headed towards Sher... her bedroom.

"Of course, John, you could always join me." She called over her shoulder saucily.

"Piss off." He replied and she giggled, heading into the room. She immediately dropped a couple of the bags onto the bed, opening the wardrobe and chucking on bag in, ready to be looked through at a late date. Shutting the door she moved over to the bed, sitting down cross-legged in the middle. She tipped the first bag up, a load of newspapers falling out and onto the covers. She picked the first one up and flicked through it quickly, mostly stuff on the recession and which celebrity was shagging which other celebrity. Mundane and uninteresting, she ignored everything she saw. Until, on page 7, in the bottom corner, was a tiny piece about a sex ring in Riga being broken down. She opened the top drawer on the bedside table, pulling out a pair of scissors and cutting the article out. Another paper, this time of page 21. Out the article came and it was placed into a small pile that built up as she read through every paper she could find that morning.

She then pulled out a small notebook and sellotape, flipping to the first plain page and sticking the articles in it. She then closed it, running her fingers over the cover of it. The book had been Sherlock's, the front half full of his notes on romantic comedies, having watched them just to see if he could find anything he could use to make her smile. The back was starting to fill with up small newspaper articles she'd noticed, small little proses with the smallest spark of hope in them.

She bent sideways and reached under the bed, pulling _it_ out. The item that had started her little campaign, her first and only case. She unfolded the long, dark grey coat with one red buttonhole at the top. Sherlock's coat. _Her _Sherlock's coat. Her Sherlock's _favourite_ coat. She'd found it draped around her whilst visiting Sherlock's grave a couple of weeks ago. She'd, rather embarrassingly, fallen asleep on top of his grave and when she'd finally woken up the coat had been covering her from the impending rainfall. It was Sherlock's, she knew it was, and he'd been buried in it.

Faye had absolutely no idea what it meant, but she had kept it a secret from everyone. John wouldn't understand, he'd just tell her in was a fake and she should stop thinking of it as anything other than a cruel joke someone had played on her. She knew he'd be able to convince her it wasn't the original, and she didn't want that. She needed it to be Sherlock's, so she kept it hidden under their... her bed until the time she could give it back to him.

Sherlock Holmes was out there somewhere, she could feel it. She stood up, heading over to a world map that she'd bought and placing a tiny cross in Latvia with a ballpoint. A week or so after Sherlock had died she'd been shaken gently by a concerned store assistant, who told her she'd been staring at the map for around 20 minutes and he was worried she wasn't okay. She hadn't been, she still was far from okay but she didn't tell him that. Hadn't even mentioned the excruciating despair she had been, and still was, feeling. She'd just smiled and bought the map for no real reason at all and brought it home, hung it up on the wall where Sherlock's mirror had been and didn't pay it much attention. Now, it had small black crosses over it, detailing places where there could have been any criminal activity and subsequent stopping of it. Anything that sounded intriguing enough to be just up Sherlock's street.

She then hid the leftover newspaper under the bed with the coat and stripped down to her underwear, wrapped herself up in the duvet and she fell to sleep, clutching the notepad close.


	3. A Shower

_As I wrote this I realised this fic is going to be Sherlock-free for a while. It made me sad :(_

_~0~0~0~_

John was worried, although that was pretty obvious. He paused outside of Faye's bedroom, heading to the bathroom for a shower, and listened for a moment to her sobbing quietly. She always hid when she wanted a cry. He never knew what to do. Was he supposed to go in, or leave her to it? If she wanted comforting, surely she'd cry in front of him? But then again, maybe she wanted to be found. Maybe she couldn't vocalise her grief to anyone, and that maybe she needed someone to do it for her?

He shook his head, taking his hand off the door handle and headed into the bathroom. He shut the door and dropped his dressing gown onto the floor, heading to the sink. He rested both hands on the basin and looked at himself in the mirror with a grimace. He looked awful. He'd barely slept since Sherlock... He rubbed a hand over his mouth, stifling the yawn that came with the thought of his last good night's sleep. It wasn't through lack of trying, and he was constantly tired. He was because he was always worrying, but then again he'd always been a worrier. Checking up on his sister, looking after the sick and injured and that was _before _he went off to Afghanistan. He used to have Sherlock to focus that on, someone who genuinely needed someone to make sure he didn't go and get himself killed. He shook his head; and what a great job he made of _that._

John reached into the shower, turning it onto quite a high temperature then, after quickly shedding his clothes, stepped in. The almost-boiling water felt fantastic as it hit his skin, waking him up even more. He rubbed both hands through his hair, making sure his short hair was completely soaked.

It was the real reason he'd been trying so hard to make sure Faye was okay. Because Sherlock was not. He'd failed his best friend, but he wasn't about to make the same mistake again. If Faye went somewhere, he'd know about it. He'd make sure he could get there at a moment's notice and he would _not_ just stand there even if he was being told to. The guilt from letting Sherlock jump was eating him up from the inside, when he closed his eyes John saw him jump, heard Faye screaming. He couldn't stop it, it was too late...

He reached out, grabbing the first bottle of shampoo he came across and vigorously scrubbed it into his scalp, trying not to dwell on it. Of course, Sherlock had been dead barely a month, it was all that they could think about. That morning Faye had made three cups of tea instead of two. He'd come home and been confused for just a second over why Sherlock didn't appear to be in the flat. He was already calling Sherlock's name when he'd realised Sherlock wasn't there. That Sherlock was never going to be there again.

_Knock, knock, knock._

"_John?_" Faye called from the other side of the door, her voice cracking as she called loudly to be heard over the running water.

"I won't be long!" He shouted back.

"_I can hear you crying from out here._" She told him as he sniffed. He shook his head, he'd hoped the water would have drowned it out, "_I'm coming in!_"

"I'm in the shower!" He cried in alarm as the door opened. He stared at the curtain, eyes wide in disbelief. Neither of them seemed to have any sense of personal decency or space. He almost winced, _Faye_ didn't seem to have it. Sherlock didn't have anything anymore.

A hand snuck in, turning the shower off with the dial. The water gave one last squirt then was off. Then the same hand came back, holding his dressing gown.

"I love you John, but I don't want to see you naked." He couldn't help the spontaneous laughter that broke from his throat and he shrugged it on, tying it at the front before pushing the curtain open. Faye shot him a shaky smile that matched her worn-out, tear-stained face. He climbed out of the bathtub and pulled her into a hug, both of them mourning the loss of their best friend.

_~0~0~0~_

"Coming!" Faye called as she jogged lightly down the stairs, hoping the person on the other side of the door heard her before they rang the doorbell again. John had finally fallen asleep on the sofa, the last thing she wanted was the doorbell waking him up. She pulled the door open and blinked in surprise, "_Molly?_"

The smaller woman shot her an almost guilty smile, nodding, "Hello." She said lamely and Faye frowned, glancing behind her as if expecting someone to be standing there before moving out of the way.

"Sorry, come in." She told Molly quietly, "John's asleep, but you're welcome to wait if you like." Molly shook her head as she stepped inside.

"No, I've come to see you." Faye frowned.

"Me?" She repeated, bewildered, "Really?" Molly nodded.

"I... I thought that maybe you'd like to go for lunch..." Molly shook her head, brushing her hair behind her ear, "You're probably busy..."

"No!" Faye interrupted, startling Molly, "No, I'd love to." She grinned, nodding up the stairs, "Just let me get ready, I'll only be a couple minutes." She led Molly upstairs, "I better leave John a note, that way I don't have to wake him up." Molly nodded.

"Is he still not sleeping?" She asked in a whisper as they entered the flat. Faye shook her head.

"Not really. He's too jump..." She trailed off, "He's still too paranoid." She corrected herself sadly. She picked up a pen and found a used envelope, scribbling a note on the back of it.

"It shows he cares, I suppose." Molly offered, not very good at comforting thing. Dead people didn't often need words of reassurance. And she didn't deal with the grieving families either.

"Sometimes I think it would be better if he didn't." Faye admitted before turning, smiling at Molly, "Right, coat." She placed the note on the coffee table in front of John before heading into the hallway. Molly shifted on the spot, was she supposed to follow? Not really knowing, she glanced down curiously at the note.

_Hey John, Molly came around and invited me to lunch. So I went. I'm fine, honest. I didn't want to wake you. I'll be back later. And I promise not to go near St Bart's. Xxx_

Molly grimaced. She remembered walking to work and seeing Faye sat on the roof where Sherlock had jumped from. Or, supposedly jumped from. She'd rang John first before running up the stairs, thanking everyone she could think of that Faye was still there when she made it to the roof. Faye had turned, looking defeated and so devastated. She wasn't going to jump off, she had just wanted to be closer to Sherlock. It broke Molly's heart, not because she considered her a friend, but because her pain was so easily preventable. A few little words and she would know.

"Ready?" Molly jolted in surprise as Faye smiled at her, doing up the last couple of buttons on her black jacket. Molly smiled and walked over. She couldn't say anything, so she was going to be there for her when Sherlock couldn't.

"Of course." She replied and the two women headed out, John not even stirring.


	4. Lunchtime

_Sorry this isn't getting the everyday treatment like the first one. I've just started to redecorate my front room, so it's taking up a lot of my time XD _

_I really appreciate the lovely words and patience you have for this very busy writer :)_

_~0~0~0~_

Faye placed the small bag on the floor, flopping into the chair as Molly sat slightly more gracefully across from her. The small pub table was in the corner of the darkened room and had two menus propped in a holder in the middle. Faye pulled one out, flipping to the lunch menu.

"... I said that the cause of death was a simple heart attack, there was no reason to question it." Molly was saying, "And then Sherlock told me to stop thinking like a four year old and pointed out that there had obviously been some sort of chemical reaction due to the discolouring of the man's toenails. He was right, made me feel like a idiot." Faye nodded as she chose her food; Jacket Potato with Tuna Mayo, her favourite.

"He did have a talent for making you feel like you were stupid." She agreed, folding the menu and placing it back, "Yet when I first handed him a game controller he tried to make the game move by pointing it at the television like a remote." The pair giggled together and Molly looked over her own menu and suddenly started floundering as she saw the tears shining in the dim light.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry." She exclaimed, "I didn't think..." Faye shook her head.

"No, it's fine." She promised, "John won't talk about him, he just starts to cry. So do I," She wiped her eyes to emphasise her point, "But I want to. I can't keep going around like he never existed. I wanted him a part of my life, I still do. Why would that change because he's dead?"

"Sometimes I can't believe he's gone." Molly admitted, cringing internally. The woman honestly believed that the man she loved was dead, and Molly knew he wasn't. She should just tell her. Sherlock didn't know what he was talking about, keeping her in the dark wasn't going to help. Molly opened her mouth, she was going to...

"Sometimes I _don't_ believe he's gone." Faye replied, then shrugged, "Then I wake up. It's quite the let down, really." She nodded at the menu, "Have you decided?" Molly frowned in confusion then looked down at the menu she had clutched in her hands. Oh yeah, lunch.

"No, give me a minute." Faye nodded with a smile and all of Molly's determination left her. She looked down at the menu, the remorse at her own cowardice making her unable to look at Faye in the eye. One day, she'd tell her everything. Until then, she ordered a Jacket Potato with Tuna Mayo, causing Faye to grin and tell her that's what she was getting too.

_~0~0~0~_

When one of Mycroft's cars had turned up, Faye had insisted on them giving Molly a lift home. Molly had spent the journey looking incredibly intimidated by the government car, but Faye had sat berating the woman in the back over their lack of timing. They'd left Molly with Faye promising to take her on a night out. Molly had watched them drive off with a smile on her face. She wasn't the most outgoing person in the world, she wasn't delusional, but she was glad she'd taken the initiative to call on Faye that lunchtime. Maybe she should start being more assertive in the future.

_~0~0~0~_

Shaun held the door to Mycroft's office open, despite the hundreds of times Faye had told him that she was perfectly able to open a door on her own. There was a cup of tea waiting for her on the table in front of her sofa, a slice of Victoria sponge next to it. Mycroft was behind his desk.

"Miss Newbarns, sir." Shaun declared and Mycroft didn't look up from his paperwork.

"I can see that, Shaun." He drawled indifferently and Shaun bowed his head.

"Yes, sir." Faye rolled her eyes at Mycroft's attitude, sharing a knowing look with Shaun, both of them knowing how he was. Shaun gently closed the door behind him with a click and Faye sat on the sofa, picking up her cup of tea and smiling at the temperature of it. She took a sip, closing her eyes and smiling as the warm liquid made it's way down her throat. Mycroft continued to do whatever he did for the British Government, and Faye did what she always did. She kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet up onto the sofa, stretching out into a lounging position. She'd been through this so many times before, Mycroft didn't want to talk but still wanted her to visit. She picked up the piece of cake and took a small bite, smiling happily at the taste. Her favourite one as well, he was spoiling her today. She munched it as the only sound to fill the room was the scratching of Mycroft's favourite pen on paper.

_~0~0~0~_

"Sherlock?" Faye slurred out as her eyes opened, blinking in the disorientation of emerging from unconsciousness. Why was he waking her up at this time on night?

"Unfortunately not the correct brother." A voice almost purred out and she blinked at the sight of Mycroft sat on the table in front of her, his shirt sleeves pushed up his arms as he stared at her with a look of disinterest. She pushed herself up, running a hand through her hair as a small yawn escaped.

"How long was I asleep for?" She asked him, ignoring or forgetting her call for Sherlock. Mycroft didn't question it and let her keep her moment of ignorance to herself.

"Roughly a hour." He replied and she reached down to her pocket, reaching in for her phone, "I have already informed Dr Watson of your whereabouts." She stopped, pushing the phone back in as she twisted on the chair.

"Oh, good." She replied lamely, frowning as she looked him over. From the other side of the room he'd looked fine, but close up she could see the bags under his eyes, and how skinny he was. She reached out, placing a hand on his, "Are you okay?"

"As well as one can be when their brother is unceremoniously torn from their lives." He retorted harshly before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, "I apologise. I'm fine." She shook her head.

"No, you're not." She replied, "It was a stupid question, I'm sorry." She shifted so she was sat next to him on the table next to him, "Sometimes I forget he was a part of everyone else's life. He was your brother, I guess I can be quite selfish like that." Mycroft shook his head.

"I have just had an increased workload." He reassured her, "I've been trying to secure a retraction with the media over their portrayal of Sherlock in the last few months. It's proving more difficult than I was anticipating." She blinked in surprise before smiling bitter-sweetly.

"You want them to stop saying Sherlock was a fraud, don't you?" She asked quietly.

"Don't _you_?" He snapped before rubbing his eyes tiredly. She leant her head on his arm.

"Everyday." She replied quietly, "But please don't make yourself ill over it. I know you feel guilty, but there really is no need to anymore. Sherlock really couldn't have cared less if he'd tried." Mycroft down at her, eyes narrowed slightly.

"You look rather ill." He pointed out and she shrugged.

"You don't look too hot yourself." She retorted before sighing, "Please, try and look after yourself. I can't lose both of you, I just can't."

"I can assure you, I'm not going anywhere." He promised her and she smiled sadly. She'd forgiven him the moment she'd realised Sherlock was dead, back in the hospital on the day he jumped. Some things were just not worth fighting over.

"Mycroft Holmes." She said his name purposefully, letting it roll off her tongue, "I wonder what it would have been like to meet your first."

"Not nearly as entertaining." He drawled and she laughed. She grinned up at him, her eyes shining hopefully.

"Can I stop at yours tonight?" She asked and he looked away.

"If you must." He retorted, meaning yes and she stood up, placing a kiss on his hair.

"I'll let John know." She pulled her phone out and he watched her head to the door, looking over his shoulder until the war doctor answered and they began arguing. He then turned to look at his hands, clasped as they were as his elbows leant on his knees. A very world-weary thing to do, when he considered it. The position of a very stressed, weighted-down man. Which he was, which had always been. But now...

She had forgiven him so readily after being so heartbroken by his betrayal. He'd expected her to turn away from him even in her hour of need, but she hadn't. She'd clung to him and cried over Sherlock, something she'd not done in so many years.

He couldn't help but wonder if she was going to be so forgiving when the truth came out.


	5. What Happens Next?

_Hello! There's some smut on my profile for Faye/Sherlock if you're interested :)_

_~0~0~0~_

Faye ended up staying at Mycroft's for five nights overall. She'd meandered around the house, as she was known to do, and had ended up in the room Sherlock and Mycroft had taken Irene Adler to. First she'd broken down, sobbing hysterically as she curled up on the sofa. Then, when Mycroft had come rushing in and forced her out, she'd be violently ill. She stopped eating completely, bringing up everything she ate was starting to burn her throat. Mycroft had wanted her to stay longer, but she just wanted her own bed. The moment she'd stepped into 221B, another wave of nausea washed over her and she pushed past John and dashed to the bathroom. John watched, deeply concerned as the door slammed shut behind her. He turned to Mycroft, who seemed to have been expecting that.

"Has she been like that for the entire week?" He asked and Mycroft shot him a patronising look.

"She had been 'like that' since Sherlock died." He retorted, "She had been unable to eat without being sick, rarely sleeps. The mood swings have been entirely too tiresome." He nodded at John, "You are the doctor, you obviously have your suspicions about what is going on."

"Yeah, but..." He glanced guiltily at the bathroom door, "How do I even bring it up? It'll devastate her."

"The longer you wait, the less time she'll have to decide on it." He bowed his head lightly, "Dr Watson." He gave as a departing note, leaving with his ever-present umbrella in hand. John turned at the sound of the door opening, Faye walking out and heading straight for the bedroom, slamming that door shut with what he would call typical 'Sherlock' fashion. He set off towards the bedroom, pausing in hesitation as he stepped into the kitchen. Deciding against it, he headed back into the front room, where he courage jumped back into him with a vengeance. He nodded to himself, heading back towards the bedroom where his resolve died as he reached the fridge.

"Oh, this is..." He trailed off with a growl of frustration. He had to talk to her about it. She deserved to know, but it would terrify her. It was terrifying him and it had very little to do with him. He shook his head. No, that was a lie. He wouldn't leave her on her own. He had to tell her, so he could tell her _that._ He would be there for her, always. They were all each other had, and he needed her to know. With that in mind, he raised his hand and knocked on the door three times.

"Yeah?" She called from the other side.

"Can I come in?" He asked nervously, the anxious feeling rising up in anticipation of what he was about to do.

"One second!" She called back, and after a little bit of shuffling he assumed was her getting dressed, she opened the door in her pyjamas; a pair of lounge pants and a purple shirt. His chest tightened unexpectedly, that was Sherlock's favourite, "What can I do for you, John?" She asked.

"I just..." He paused, not knowing how to even start, "I just wanted to see if you were okay." She nodded with a grimace.

"I guess Mycroft told you?" John nodded and she stepped out of the way, heading towards the bed, "I'm just stressed, that's all." She explained, sitting down and crossing her legs, "When I realised Sherlock wasn't coming to my 18th birthday, I had a similar reaction. This is just much more intense." John sat next to her, smiling sadly and shaking his head.

"I don't think it is." He told her honestly, "I think..." He took a deep breath, "I think you should consider that you may be pregnant." She shook her head and he reached out, taking her hand, "I know it's probably not something you want to think about..."

"John," She interrupted, "I'm not pregnant."

"I'm sure you were both really careful." He replied, "But accidents do happen, and with your symptoms it's a real possibility."

"No, I know I'm not pregnant." She told him, "I can promise you." She reached into the bedside table, pulling out one of the boxes of tests Sherlock had kept in there, "Sherlock, for whatever bonkers reason, had quite the stash of these. I did four, all negative. I'm not pregnant." John still looked and felt rather dubious.

"Maybe you should make an appointment with a doctor, just in case." She sighed, frustrated that he wasn't listening to her.

"You want to know why I've been throwing up?" She snapped, "It's because I've been so preoccupied with the death of the man _I love, _that I forgot to take my contraceptive pills quite a few times this last couple of months. I'm throwing up because my cramps are fucking terrible, and they're making me sick!" She snapped, "Now, will you bloody listen to me? I'm not pregnant, there is no little Sherlock growing inside of me. He's dead, he's not coming back and you're not placing your need to see him again into my uterus!" John's face hardened, hurt and angry, as she glared back at him just as readily, "Now, ring Mycroft, tell him I'm not up the duff and then _leave me alone_!" He stood up, nodding.

"You know what? _Fine._" He shouted back, "Then move out of _my_ flat and back to your own!" He turned and stormed out.

"Fine!" She screamed after him, slamming the door shut behind him. By the time he'd reached the front room, most of his anger had dissipated and he looked back at the door, silently berating himself for pushing her. But he didn't go back, still hurt at what she said, mainly because she was right. He just wanted _something_, something of that brilliant man who had left them all behind. Instead, he pulled out his phone and waited for Mycroft to answer.

"_Yes, Dr Watson?_" Mycroft drawled.

"She's not pregnant." He told her, "She's done a load of tests, she says it's just her grief mixed with really bad cramps." He tried not to grimace, as a doctor it was entirely unprofessional. Although, he'd mainly dealt with men during his career...

"_Ah, she does have terrible __menstrual__tendencies._" Mycroft agreed, "_Very well, thank you Dr Watson._" And he hung up. John sighed, looking at his phone in exasperation.

"You're welcome." He grumbled, sitting down and turning the television on with a very firm press on the remote.

_~0~0~0~_

That night, as John tossed and turned restlessly in his bed, the door creaked open. His immediate reaction was to reach towards his bedside table, where he still kept his standard issue from his army days, but his aim wavered at the sound of sobbing.

"John?" Faye begged into the darkness and he sat up to see her in the doorway, playing with the hem of Sherlock's shirt as she shook horrifically, "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry." She sobbed and he shot her a smile he was sure she couldn't see, and held out his hand.

"Don't be." He replied and she rushed over as he chucked his duvet out of the way. She climbed under and he held her as she wept, feeling helpless and achingly devastated, but hopefully slightly less alone.

_~0~0~0~_

Faye gently headed down the stairs the following morning. Or afternoon, she had absolutely no idea what time it was. John hadn't been there when she'd woken, but she knew he'd had trouble sleeping these days and so she didn't expect him to be by her side. They'd never talk about the argument again, they never did. Both knew it was just the anguish of their loss coming out in spurts of pure rage at each other, guilt that they were still alive and blame that it wasn't the other one who was dead. Neither of them meant it, of course, but grief made you think horrific thoughts during the dark times it took over. It was probably a good sign of their own friendship that they could shout at each other, then comfort each other without holding grudges.

"Well, can't say I'm surprised." Someone pointed out teasingly and she blinked at the sight of Lestrade on the sofa, a knowing look on his face and she rolled her eyes at him goodnaturedly.

"Oh ha ha, Lestrade." She replied, knowing he was just trying to wind her up as John appeared with two cups, "You still in the doghouse?" She asked, sitting on the other side of the sofa and pulling her legs up under her. He nodded with a reluctant sigh.

"Don't know why." He explained, "She's the one who had the affair, she should be bloody grateful I'm taking her back. Cheers." He took the cup off John.

"I don't know why you did." Faye admitted, "You deserve better than her, you know that." He nodded sadly.

"I don't know why either." He stared at his mug for a moment, vulnerable.

"But I'm guessing you're not here to talk about your wife." Faye offered, taking the conversation away from the cow he lived with and he nodded gratefully.

"Yeah, well, I thought you should..." He looked between the two, suddenly looking stern, "And you're not to tell _anyone_ about this, I'm only hanging onto my job by a thread as it is." Intrigued, both she and John promised not to tell a soul, "We've just finally busted this Russian crime consortium that's been operating here in the South and South East for a good few decades. Normal stuff, drugs, human trafficking. All horrific, don't get me wrong, but still, standard stuff, you know?"

"Right." John replied with a nod, "But why are you telling us this?" Faye shared his confused look, something Lestrade could appreciate.

"Well, I don't really speak Russian, I'm not exactly well-versed in foreign languages. This guy, Ivanov, doesn't really care. He's babbling on in Russian, probably trying to threaten us, or get himself off the charges, I didn't really care. Until he said something I understood. 'Moriarty'." Faye's head snapped to the side, staring at John in shock, which he mirrored.

"Are you sure?" John asked lowly and Lestrade nodded.

"We caught a few of them, maybe half a dozen. All with the exact same story. A power struggle, starting with the death of Moriarty." He took a sip of his tea, "I'm not promising anything, but I think this might be the start of being able to prove that Moriarty was a real person. That Sherlock wasn't lying, and that he wasn't a fraud." Faye leant back, dazed as John rubbed a hand over his mouth, "So, what you need to do is find anything at all that you can, anything Sherlock had on the man. Keep it to yourself, but the more you have when we come calling will work more in your favour." He then shared a look with them, "But you didn't hear it from me, right?"

_~0~0~0~_

Faye didn't know how she ended up there, really. Her head was swirling with a million different thoughts, not all of them on Moriarty. She couldn't believe it, she'd rang Mycroft the moment Lestrade had left, who obviously had known about it all along. Still, she was now going over every encounter she had with Richard Brook, even though she couldn't think of anything out of the ordinary she still was trying to file everything away that she could. She didn't have a 'mind palace', or even a 'mind garage', her memory wasn't bad but it was nothing compared to Sherlock. Still, every little counts, right?

She looked up at double doors, shaking slightly as she stared at it warily. She'd promised John she wouldn't go back to St Bart's without him, but she wasn't on the roof so it wasn't too bad. She pushed the door open, stepping into the morgue where Molly was sorting through some files. She jumped in surprise.

"Oh, you startled me." She exclaimed before frowning at the sight of Faye looking terribly distressed, "What's wrong?" She placed her papers down and stepped closer.

"I... I lied, to John, to Mycroft. I don't know what to do." She whimpered, "Help me, please."

"Tell me what you need." She replied firmly, echoing the same words she said to another part of the couple two months ago.

"I'm pregnant." Faye gulped, finally admitting it out loud, "And I don't know what to do."


	6. Worries

Faye pulled back the blinds on the window slightly, looking down on the road outside, her eyes scanning as she tried to... Oh yeah, there it was. The black government car. Mycroft was still having her followed. More than likely he'd know that she was in St Bart's, but they were probably waiting for her to appear on the roof. She didn't have much time. She let the blinds swing shut as she turned back to Molly, who was staring at her, stunned.

"So, questions?" Faye asked and Molly nodded.

"You're pregnant?" Faye nodded, "With Sherlock's..." Faye nodded again, "Why are you telling me?"

"Honestly?" Faye started, "Because I don't think you'll try and make me keep it."

"Wait, you don't want to keep it?" Molly exclaimed and Faye shook her head.

"No." She replied instantly, before hesitating, "Yes, maybe. I don't know!" She sat on one of the stools littering the room, "I mean, the window of opportunity is rapidly closing and I don't know what to do! I mean, I'm not fit to be a mother. I can barely look after myself, Mycroft does everything for me. I just..." She smiled sadly at Molly, "John would try and convince me to keep it and Mycroft would try and convince me to get rid of it, regardless of what I want to do. I thought you might understand, or at least understand it's my choice." Molly sat awkwardly in front of her, the two women huddled together.

If she was perfectly honest, Molly had no idea what to say. She wanted to tell Faye that Sherlock was alive, more so than ever now. She deserved to know more than ever, but the fact was she had no way of contacting him at all. She had no idea where he was, or what he was doing. She didn't have a phone number for him, so telling her about Sherlock would accomplish nothing except to add to her stress.

"Maybe this baby will be the making of you." Molly said without thinking and Faye tilted her head to one side, not as offended as Molly thought she was going to be.

"What do you mean?" She asked curiously. Molly shrugged, sitting up straighter.

"Well, you say that Sherlock's brother looks after you a lot." Molly held her hands up defensively, "And I only know what you and Sherlock may have told me, so please don't get the wrong idea, but you've had no other reason to look after yourself, have you? Maybe this baby is it. You won't be able to let Mycroft look after you, because you'll have to look after them."

"I thought that too." Faye replied lowly, "But I don't know if it's enough." She looked over her shoulder at the window, "Please, don't tell anyone, but I've been seeing her again a lot lately." Molly frowned in confusion.

"Who?"

"Mary." Faye clarified, "I'm having serious issues with her, because Sherlock was calling me by her name and I was finally becoming comfortable again, and then he died and now her name's floating around my head again."

"I thought all that stuff in the paper was fake." Molly stated and Faye shook her head.

"Oh no, most of it was true." She replied, "Everything about me and Sherlock's past was true. My old name _was_ Mary. I suffered with terrible self-esteem issues my entire life because of her. When I get really bad, it's like I can see her. She stares back at me in mirrors and stuff, taunting me." Molly stared silently as she studied her, the analytical side of her brain kicking up into full gear.

"You see yourself as two separate entities, don't you?" She asked.

"Yeah." Faye replied as if it was obvious.

"Why?" Molly pressed.

"Because if I didn't, she'd kill me." Faye replied bluntly, "And that's just it. I can't look after myself without creating another personality to keep me safe from the voice in my head telling me I need to starve myself. One parent commits suicide, the other has tried before. It's not exactly a safe gene pool to be splashing in, is it?" She ran her hand through her hair as her phone began ringing, "There he is now."

"John?" Molly asked as Faye reached into her jacket pocket, pulling it out. Yep, 'Mikey', in plain letters across her screen. She didn't even call him that, but she knew it pissed him off so she kept it like that.

"No, Mycroft. He has people follow me about when he's worried." She pressed the answer button, "Hello Mycroft."

"_Dr Watson will not be happy to learn you're in St Bart's._" He told her pointedly and she rolled her eyes.

"Why would 'Dr Watson' even find out?" She snapped in reply, "Surely you also know I'm not on the roof."

"_You are still in the building._" Mycroft replied and she nodded.

"Yes, I came to see Molly. We're going out for lunch."

"_And that was something you couldn't do without that__ particular goldfish?_" Molly almost started as Faye's face dropped into a scowl.

"That little 'goldfish' is my friend, Mycroft." She practically shouted into the phone, "I won't have you belittle her. And stop following me!" She hung up and her face immediately broke out into bright smile, "There, that should keep him away for a few days." She shot up off the chair and skipped to the window, looking out just to see the car drive away, "Oh brilliant, he sent his minions away as well." She cheered.

"Did he... did he call me a goldfish?" Molly had to asked and Faye nodded.

"Yeah, but he does that to everyone. I wouldn't worry about it." She dismissed, "Come on, lunch." Molly frowned, still completely lost. One minute they were talking about the fact she was pregnant with Sherlock's child, now they were going out?

"We're actually going to lunch?" Faye nodded.

"Yeah, I want a jacket potato." She frowned slightly, bewildered, "You didn't think I was just using you for an excuse, did you?" At Molly's guilty look she rolled her eyes, "Oh, come on Molly. Keep up." Molly couldn't help but laugh at the very 'Sherlock' exclamation.

"But, what about the, you know..." She nodded at Faye's stomach and she shrugged.

"I haven't a clue." She admitted freely, "But just because the car's driven off doesn't mean no one's watching. We have to go now." Molly scrambled up, and after fetching her coat and purse, they headed into the hallway.

"When's your next appointment?" Molly asked, "I could go with you, if you like. For support." She offered her help nervously and Faye shook her head.

"I've not been to the doctor's yet." She replied, "I can't. If it gets put in a file, Mycroft will get his sneaky paws on it. Then he'll know." She didn't blame Molly for looking horrified, she didn't feel great about it herself. Still, with her decision on the whole 'baby' thing constantly changing, she didn't know if getting a check up was even necessary.

"But, how do you know if you're healthy?!" Molly exclaimed, "Or the baby? Sherlock wouldn't..."

"Sherlock wouldn't have wanted it." Faye interrupted harshly, "End of. If Sherlock was here, this decision would have been a million times easier. Truth is, it's because he's _not_ here it isn't." Molly shot her a look.

"You'll start showing soon." She pointed out and Faye sighed as they left the building.

"I know." She mumbled before smiling gratefully at Molly, "When I go to the doctor's, I'd love you to come with me. I'm terrified." Molly nodded, smiling back at her.

"That's fine."

_~0~0~0~_

Faye was watching some soap, Eastenders John guessed but he'd never given any of them much thought. She didn't seem to be either, her feet on the coffee table in front of her, wrapped up in her dressing gown as she stared blankly ahead. John looked up from him computer, where he spent the majority of his time trying to blog, and failing miserably. He couldn't bring himself to write anything, without Sherlock it seemed pointless. So he'd taken to reading others, trying to find something else to write about. So far nothing was standing out.

"Do you fancy Chinese?" He called over, shutting the lid on his laptop. They ate too many takeaways, but he needed to get out of the flat. He turned, but she didn't reply, "Faye?" Still nothing and he frowned in concern, "Faye?" he called louder, but she stayed lost in her thoughts. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the onslaught of anger coming his way, "Mary?"

"Yeah?" She called back vaguely before catching herself. She turned to look at him, surprised at herself, "Did you just call me Mary?" He nodded.

"And you answered." He replied, worriedly. She bit her lip, turning back to the television.

"That's not good, is it?" She muttered to herself, catching just the outline of herself in the screen as the show changed scenes. Not good at all.


	7. Molly and Mycroft

_A bit of a Faye-Lite chapter, but... ;)_

_Thank you all again for your kind reviews, I hope you like where I'm taking this :)_

_~0~0~0~_

Molly switched to yet another channel, before giving up watching in frustration. She turned it off with a push of the red button on top of the remote and stood up, chucking it onto her chair rather more violently than was needed. Heading to the kitchen, she flicked the switch on her kettle, pulling out a mug ready for yet another cup of tea.

It occurred to her that if she'd been a drinker, this would be the time to start downing glasses of wine as if they were water. But she wasn't, and wine tasted foul at the best of times so she had to settle for copious amounts of Tetley.

The fact of the matter was she had absolutely no way of contacting him. After seeing him off to Belarus, an arduous task which she yet again received no thanks for, she had tried to ring his old number. The woman on the other side of the phone declared the number out of use, and that was it really. She had no idea where he was, he didn't have a fixed address anymore so even if she had the skills she had no way of tracking him down.

It was one of the reasons she hadn't told Faye, she reasoned with herself as she poured the hot water over the teabag, placing the kettle back on it's base and turning to the fridge. It wasn't like she could offer any help once Faye did know and 'oh yeah, Sherlock's alive but I have no idea where and you still can't see him and he'll still not be there for you and the baby' wasn't much of a consolation.

Then there was the fact that Faye would probably not forgive her for not saying the truth to begin with. Molly knew she wouldn't. She poured the milk into the cup before screwing the lid back on and returning it to the fridge. If she found out she was being kept out of a deception this big by the man who supposedly loved her, then she wouldn't forgive anyone who knew either.

Still, she had to do something. She leant on the kitchen counter top, blowing absentmindedly on the top of the drink before taking a small sip. Faye had made her promise not to tell anyone, but the longer the woman stayed in denial over the situation the worse it would become. And she knew there was someone who could sort it out, who was much cleverer than she was and who had the most chance of being to contact Sherlock. It was for her own good, Molly decided as she went back into the living space of her modest flat. She picked up her phone and rang a number she'd been given by Sherlock in case something happened to Faye. She smiled to herself as she held the phone to her ear, he'd been so concerned for her. Not that he showed it, but even giving the impression was huge for a man like Sherlock. If only he felt the same about her.

"_Dr Hooper, what can I do for you this evening?_" Mycroft drawled on the other side of the line, startling her out of her thoughts.

"Oh, hello." She replied meekly, suddenly realising she had no idea where to start, "Um, I'm a bit worried about Faye, and Sherlock told me I was to tell you. So, you know, maybe so you could contact him or something." She could feel herself going bright red, cringing at her awkwardness. So much for the more assertive Molly she'd been aiming for.

"_I can assure you, Dr Hooper, that a little illness and grief will not bring Sherlock running back from the dead._" He mocked and she shook her head.

"She's not ill." Molly told him before sighing, "She's pregnant. And there was something about seeing 'Mary' everywhere. She asked me not to say anything to anyone, but I'm really worried..." There was a knock on her front door and at the silence from the other end of the line, she looked at it warily. How had he made it there so quickly? There was another knock.

"_Maybe you should answer your door, Dr Hooper._" Mycroft instructed calmly, ignoring everything she said previously, "_I can hold._" She nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see her, and opened her front door.

"John?" She asked as he shot her a kind smile. She had always liked John, he'd been kind to her when Sherlock wasn't, making her feel like she was useful. But him being at her flat, and quite late into the evening at this point, was quite odd.

"Hello Molly. Can I have a quick word?" He asked and she nodded, stepping out of the way to let him in and motioned to the phone in her hand.

"I'll just be a minute." She apologised and he smiled again, making her smile back as he sat on her sofa. She held the phone back up to her ear, "It's John. I better go."

"_I could use a chat with Dr Watson. If you would kindly pass him your phone I'd be most grateful_."

"Oh, I don't know if that's a good idea." She replied anciously. Telling Mycroft was one thing, John would go mad if he knew Faye was keeping secrets from him.

"_If I promise not to tell him about Faye's predicament, will you pass him the phone?_"

"Okay." She reluctantly agreed and walked over to John's side, holding the phone to him, "He wants to talk to you."

"Who?" John replied with a frown, suspicious.

"Oh, it's Mycroft." John didn't question why he was calling Molly, instead just took the phone from her.

"She answered to Mary today." John told him without waiting, "I called Faye three times but she only answered to Mary. That can't be good, can it?"

"_I shall make an appointment with her __psychiatrist.__I suggest going back and keeping an eye on her this evening. Sherlock was not the only one with danger nights._" John nodded.

"Will do." He passed the phone to Molly, "Has she said anything to you?" He asked, getting back to the reason he was there in the first place. Molly shrugged, slightly bewildered.

"She said she was seeing Mary everywhere because Sherlock had been calling her by her old name?" She offered. John cursed then smiled.

"Cheers. Do you think you can come by tomorrow, take her to lunch or something? She seems to really enjoy spending time with you." Molly nodded, a modest smile spreading on her face.

"Of course." John nodded and was out of the door before she could say anything else. Realising she still had a phone in her hand, she quickly placed it up to her ear.

"Is it really that bad?" She asked and Mycroft sighed, exasperated.

"_Extremely._" He retorted.

"Does that mean you'll contact him?" She pressed. There was a long pause.

"_I shall try_." Mycroft offered, "_I don't exactly know where he is either, Dr Hooper._" Molly smiled in relief.

"Thank you." She offered before a burst of courage rushed over her, "And I am not a goldfish." She hung up quickly before he could reply and giggled to herself, the rush making her feel giddy. She went back over to her favourite chair, picking up the remote and flopping down, turning to Dave and laughing heartily at Mock the Week.

_~0~0~0~_

Mycroft smiled, pleasantly surprised at the doctor's outburst before rubbing his face with his hand. He looked around the office, then at the couch he'd refused to have moved. It felt like days since he'd gone home, chances were it had been and he wouldn't leave for a while yet. He still had to try and sort this shambles out, his brother wouldn't come back before it was.

He turned back to his phone, speed-dialing until a voice answered on the other side.

"_Brother dear._" Sherlock drawled.

"Mary's pregnant." Mycroft replied, no pretence and not beating around the bus. The use of her name was deliberate and Sherlock hissed in surprise.

"_Who?_" Was his answer.

"You." Mycroft bit out, "What will you do?" Sherlock didn't reply for a long, drawn-out moment.

"_Is she living with John yet?_" He asked.

"Obviously."

"_Then she will be fine._" Sherlock dismissed coldly, "_Do not tell her, Mycroft._"

"You do realise she will keep it, regardless if it is what is best for her." Mycroft pointed out, "A little bastard Holmes running around, and she won't know you're alive."

"_Does John know?_" He asked and Mycroft sighed with a shake of his head.

"Oblivious, as always." He replied.

"_He will look after her. Neither of them can know. The underworld is watching them, they have to be kept in the dark._"

"At the expense of your own child?" Mycroft asked lightly.

"_Goodbye, Mycroft._" And Sherlock hung up. Mycroft hadn't expected anything less. He hadn't thought it would change anything, expect maybe he'd be slightly more careful than he had been up until that point.

He stood up, stretching in an extremely undignified manner them moved to the sofa, lying down and closing his eyes. A few hours later, he awoke and went back to his business.


	8. A Night Out

_I do apologise, I appear to have discovered Supernatural. Just started Season 3, wish me luck..._

_~0~0~0~_

Faye swivelled around on the barstool after thanking the bartender for her Coke. She propped her elbows on the bar behind her and looked out into the dark club, taking a sip as she surveyed the room critically. It wasn't incredibly busy, it being only a Tuesday but there was still enough to keep the club out of the 'lonely singletons' area.

"Right." She started slowly, "How about him?" She nodded to a bunch of men chatting around one of the tables they had in clubs designed for standing around, "The one in the green shirt." Molly looked over, scrutinizing him closely before wrinkling her nose and shaking her head.

"Too young." She replied over the music, "And short." Faye laughed and nodded.

"Okay, I can see that." She conceded, "What about..." She scanned the room as she kept the word trailing out of her mouth, "Him?" She pointed to a taller man in a tight white shirt and black trousers, grooving to himself, blind drunk. She looked at Molly, eyebrows raised until they both broke out into laughter.

"Definitely not." Molly replied, taking a sip of her Bacardi and Coke. Faye sighed.

"Okay, so there's no good blokes here for us to ogle. What about women?" Molly realised Faye was staring at her expectantly and blushed, shaking her head.

"Oh no, not me. You can, though. Of course, it's fine." Faye nodded.

"I know it's fine." She replied, drinking the rest of her Coke and placing on the bar, "This is getting us no where fast."

"I'm sorry." Molly replied guiltily, "I guess these men don't fit my 'type'." Faye nodded.

"Should have seen that, really." She admitted, "We'll go to the library tomorrow." Molly giggled, trailing off when she saw the serious look on Faye's face and realised she actually meant it.

"You don't have to." Molly stuttered out uncomfortably and Faye sighed, chucking her head back, her rounded stomach silhouetted by the mood lighting.

"I'm just so _bored!_" She cried angrily, "Sherlock used to take up so much of my time, now I have nothing to do and it's so tedious!"

"I'm guessing you didn't get your job back again?" Molly asked and she shook her head, taking another sip of her Coke.

"3 times, Molly!" She exclaimed in frustration, "3 times I've tried to go grovelling back and each time all I've got is 'we're sorry, we'd love to have you back but it's just not what we can offer right now'. Which is their way of saying 'We're sorry, we'd love to have you back but the British Government won't let us'." Molly laughed again, feeling slightly giddy because of the alcohol she'd taken to drinking for their night out.

"You don't know that." Faye nodded with a grimace.

"I do." She retorted, "I've been rejected for many things and whether it be a job, a date or a credit card I can always tell which is an _actual _rejection and which is a Mycroft-fuelled fear rejection."

"Maybe he's punishing you for not telling John." Molly offered, "I still don't know how you can keep it from him. He's going to notice when you go into labour."

"If he hasn't noticed with me walking around with _this_," she motioned to her stomach, "then it's his own fault at this point. Quite frankly, I don't know how anyone couldn't tell I'm knocked up, let alone a doctor." She slid off the stool, landing standing upright, "This is boring, let's go." Molly rolled her eyes, amused by her more and more everyday then finished her drink, jumping off her stool and linking arms with her.

"I know a brilliant karaoke bar." She offered with a sly grin and Faye stared at her with fake offense.

"And you've been keeping it from me? Molly Hooper, you're such a tease. We'll get you laid yet."

_~0~0~0~_

John smiled to himself as he heard the door downstairs open then slam shut. There was Faye now. He closed the lid on his laptop and twisted in his chair, ready to watch her drunkenly fall into the room. She was quite entertaining when pissed, so he wanted a front row seat. He heard her start up the stairs, then frowned when she didn't seem to make it all the way up. Must have fallen. Or fallen asleep, she'd done that before. He smiled sadly at the memory of her and Sherlock curled up on the stairs, fast asleep. Sherlock had placed a hand on her hip, pulling her closer as they'd spooned. It had been adorable, actually. If not slightly strange to see them in such a compromising position. He stood up with a sigh, ready to go fetch her when he opened the door the same time she was trying to on the other side. With a yelp of surprise, she fell into him and they tumbled to the floor, Faye using her arms to support herself before she squashed him completely.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry John." She apologised, embarrassed but John wasn't paying attention, his focus pulled to her stomach, which was pushing into his firmly. She noticed, the astonished look on his face showing her everything he was thinking in quick succession and she struggled to push herself off him, brushing herself down. He stared up at her, mouth agape and eyes wide.

"You're... You're pregnant." He exclaimed and she nodded.

"Do keep up, John." She retorted. He scrambled up, finally taking in the baby bump that seemed to suddenly appear.

"Is it Sherlock's?" He demanded and she rolled her eyes.

"Of course it's bloody Sherlock's, you arsehole!" She snapped back, pulling her extra large cardigan around her stomach, "Who else would it be? It's not like I can go anywhere without you or Mycroft watching." His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"You told me you weren't pregnant." He accused and she nodded.

"That was a lie." She replied simply, "I was going to get rid of it, so what was the point in telling you?"

"What changed your mind?" He challenged and she shrugged.

"Molly, mainly." She admitted, "She pointed out that maybe having a baby would be the catalyst for me being able to let go of Mycroft's shirt tails and stand on my own two feet for the first time in my life." She walked over to the sofa and sat down, which was harder than it used to be and she dreaded thinking about how harder it was going to get as she got bigger, "With a baby, I can't be concerned about how I look, or whether or not I can go another day. I have to, she can't live without me, can she?" He sat down next to her, his eyes dropping to her stomach for a moment then back up to her face. She looked down, uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze.

He felt hurt, betrayed by the fact she had so blatantly lied to him and had continued to do so. The fact he only found out by a chance stumble was the only reason he knew. And Molly knew, and Mycroft knew. He would bet his gun that Mrs Hudson knew as well. He was outraged and devastated that he'd been kept out of the loop.

Then there was the fact it was _Sherlock's_ child. The little thing growing inside her was his best friend's, who also happened to be dead and buried. John's heart broke for the fact neither would know the other. Sherlock would never meet his only child, and the baby would grow up never having had it's dad. What if he couldn't look at it without thinking about Sherlock? What if it had Sherlock's eyes? Jesus, that expressive yet cold and collected stare looking at him, could he even bare to be in the same room knowing the baby was there but Sherlock wasn't?

Faye shrunk slightly as he locked eyes with her, another thought popping into his head, overriding everything else.

"It's a girl?" He whispered and she smiled, nodded and resting her hand on her stomach.

"Yes." She whispered, "My little bastard Holmes is in fact, a girl." A grin spread across his face and he laughed in celebration, Faye joining in on the giggles.

"It's a girl!" He pulled her in for a hug and she clung to him, closing her eyes and burrowing her face in his shoulder.

"It's a girl." John whispered.


	9. Discoveries

_The Bulgarian at the end was from Google Translate, and it probably butchered completely. But, I also have no idea because I don't speak anything apart from my Northern English. So, I placed what I wanted it to say at the end._

_~0~0~0~_

"JOHN!" Faye shouted and the man groaned lightly to himself, placing the screwdriver on the floor next to the instructions he was following. Well, he was attempting to follow. Whoever wrote this obviously had no clue on how to build _anything, _"JO-OHN!" She shouted again, the whine in her voice drawing out his name. He pushed himself up and took the few steps from the kitchen into the front room, where she was sat on the sofa, her stomach protruding as she sat in sweatpants and t-shirt, her hair tied up behind her head.

"Yes?" He asked pointedly and she shot him a frustrated look.

"The little bastard wants some ice cream." She told him and he shook his head, turning and heading into the kitchen.

"Maybe you shouldn't call her a 'little bastard'?" He suggested, "Have you even thought of an actual name?"

"Of course I have." She retorted.

"And?" He opened the freezer, pulling out one of the many, _many_ mini tubs of vanilla ice cream. He grabbed a spoon and headed back into the living room.

"Nothing I can say in public without being called 'abusive'." She grumbled, annoyed. He handed her the ice cream and sat next to her on the sofa.

"Did you even look through that book Mrs Hudson got you?" She nodded, taking a bite of the desert and smiling, satisfied.

"Yeah, what a load of rubbish. I mean, what kind of name is 'Constance?' More like 'Constant pain in my arse'." John reached down the side of the sofa, picking up the discarded back and opening it on a random page.

"Let's have a look..." He scanned the page quickly before a name caught his eye, "Okay, what about 'Tara'? That's a nice name." Faye shook her head.

"Nah. I couldn't help but feel like a magician every time I said it." At his look she chucked her arms out, "Tara!" He chuckled and flipped back through the book.

"Okay, how about 'Jane'?" She shook her head again.

"Nope. Knew a girl called Jane at school. Gigantic slut." Fair enough, he supposed. Some people associated names with people they knew. He turned the page.

"What about Jessica?" She just shook her head before tilting it backwards, leaning it on the back of the sofa.

"It's no use. All these names are awful. This little bastard is never going to get a name." She moaned and he placed the book down, rubbing her leg comfortingly.

"You'll think of something." He promised her, standing up, "Now finish your ice cream, Mycroft will be here for you soon." She groaned again, taking a forceful bite.

"Do I have to move?" She asked him and he nodded.

"Yes, you have to move." He broke to her, "You're going to meet up with his parents, remember?" She nodded, holding the ice cream out to him. He took it off her, placing it on the table behind him then held out his hand for her. With a little bit of difficulty, though he'd never tell her, he helped her stand up and she headed towards her bedroom to get changed, passing the pile of wood and screws John had left in the middle of the floor.

"You know, I can get one of Mycroft's men to build it?" She called and he glared at her retreating form.

"No, thank you!" He shouted and she laughed, shutting the door.

_~0~0~0~_

Mycroft followed John into the front room, umbrella missing as, for once, it was quite a pleasant day for January. He stood stoically by the mantelpiece, hands clasped in front of him in his typical 'Mycroft' pose. John, not really wanting to make small talk with the man, nor the man really wanting to either, went back to the kitchen and continued his arduous task.

"I can get someone to help you,if you desire." Mycroft pointed out and John paused, annoyed.

"No, thank you." He repeated, slightly more harshly than he'd said to Faye, "I can build a simple..."

"Leave him alone, Mycroft." Faye stepped out, wearing a very flattering shirt, jean combo. She was so happy with the purchase, because even though she was huge now she was positive you couldn't tell they were maternity clothes at all. Well, that's what she told herself, "He can't help it if he's obsessed with following the instructions to the letter."

"They wouldn't have instructions if you weren't meant to follow them!" He defended as she stepped over the discarded pieces on the floor.

"They're not even in proper English!" She countered as she smiled at Mycroft, "Ready?" He nodded, offering his arm, which she took gratefully, "Don't wait up." They both headed out, leaving John on the floor with his tools.

"So, how is our little bastard Holmes doing?" John heard Mycroft asked and he chuckled to himself, picking up a bracket and looking at it.

"What the _hell_ are you for?" He grumbled.

_~0~0~0~_

Faye frowned as she re-entered 221B later that day. John was no where to be seen, neither was the pile of wood that had been the changing table he had been building when she'd left. Quite the bit worse for wear than she had been when she had left, little bastard Holmes didn't want to give her any peace today at all. It felt like she was trying to claw her way out of her womb, but then again if she was anything like either of her parents she probably was.

"John?" She called, chucking her bag onto his chair and waddling into the bedroom. She smiled happily at the changing table in the corner and the cot just next to it. One corner of her room had been redecorated ready for the birth of the evil spawn inside her, "Oh, well, it looks lovely." She stated, turning to find John sat on her bed, reading through her pad. Around him was the remains of the newspapers she'd cut the articles out of and, in a neat pile next to him, was Sherlock's jacket.

"I was moving your bed." He explained, "Giving you some space, when this all appeared." She nodded slowly.

"I'm just keeping up with current affairs." She offered, "Nothing wrong with that." He shut the book with a flick of his wrist.

"No, this is searching for Sherlock." He remarked before looking up at her, "Where did you get the coat?"

"Someone draped it over my shoulders when I was asleep on Sherlock's grave." She explained calmly. She knew how bizarre it sounded, that was why she'd not told him about any of it.

"You fell asleep on Sherlock's grave?" John asked and she shrugged.

"A couple of times." She replied, "Not for a long while. You shouldn't be going through my things, John." He shot up, frightening her slightly with the look of outraged anger in his eyes.

"And you shouldn't be looking around for a dead man!" He shouted, chucking the book on the bed, "Jesus, Faye. This is bloody twisted! It's..." He trailed off and her eyes narrowed.

"Insane?" She finished angrily and he shook his head.

"No!" He insisted, "It's not healthy, Faye! We buried him, he's gone. He's not out in Eastern Europe fighting crime!" He picked up the coat, waving it at her, "This is _not_ his jacket!"

"I know!" She shouted back, "I never said it was, did I?" She snatched it out of his hands, "I'm just trying to be closer to him. Let it go!"

"I can't. This isn't right." He told her, shaking his head, "This is like bloody Anderson." She frowned.

"What's that arsehole got to do with anything?" She exclaimed.

"He was here when you were out. Begging me to tell him how Sherlock faked his death." Faye sighed, shaking his head.

"Losing his job did not help that man at all." She mused and he looked at her incrediously.

"Oh, and you're better, are you?" He retorted and she shrugged.

"Everyone knows I'm not right in the head." She replied simply and he sighed.

"Please, please stop this." He begged her and she shook her head, looking at him apologetically.

"I'm just not ready to let him go yet." She explained, "When I am, I'll destroy it all. Please, just let it go John." He stared at her, looking her over with searching eyes and he deliberated. Then, as his eyes drifted to her swollen stomach he sighed.

"We'll come back to this after she's born." He warned her and she nodded, rubbing her stomach.

"Little bastard Holmes comes in handy once again." She joked.

"Seriously, even just a temporary name would be better than that." He protested.

"I can't think of a name I like." She replied, "Maybe I won't. You choose if you're so bothered."

"I'm not naming your child." He told her firmly, heading out of the room.

"Yes you are!" She called after him, before unfolding the jacket and slipping it on. So, Anderson didn't believe it either? Then man was a dick, but he wasn't stupid. What did he have that she didn't?

She stepped forward, towards the bed when she felt it. The firm feeling of something giving way inside her, then immediate feeling of water. She looked down, paling as a fierce rush of pure terror froze her on the spot.

"JOHN!" She screamed.

_~0~0~0~_

It was nearing dawn, and in the back streets of Varna, Bulgaria, a group of five men were huddled together under a dull street lamp, all in long coats and a couple smoking. Down the street a man approached, a young woman at his side. She was dirty, with torn clothes and matted hair.

"Stefan izprashta pozdravi." He told the group before pushing the girl towards one of the men, who caught her with ease. She whimpered as he tilted her head, checking her.

"Kolko?" He demanded.

"A svoboden. S vkus na kakvo shte stane." The man explained, "Mnogo poveche, kogato tya idva ot. Imame li sdelka?" The man took a little longer, checking the worth of the girl he'd been given. She'd go well in the western countries, they loved their blondes. He nodded.

"Izbyagvane." He agreed, and then there was spotlights. Police swarmed in SWAT gear, all armed as they surrounded the five men. The sixth, and the girl, both rushed out of the way. A policeman took the girl away, checking she was all right and praising her for her part in the act. The man headed off into the night, flicking up his collar and ruffling his hair at the job well done. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out. A picture of a baby in a hospital cot, wrapped in a white blanket with a smattering of hair greeted him.

_Congratulations, it's a girl. Name to follow. M._

Sherlock took a sharp intake of breath as he took another look at his newborn baby daughter. He had hoped to be able to tell Mary before the birth, but it was too late. He saved the photo to his phone, hoped Mary wouldn't be stupid and name her something like 'Chardonnay', then went on his way.

_~0~0~0~_

_Bulargarian text._

_Stefan izprashta pozdravi – Stefan sends his regards._

_Kolko? - How much?_

_A svoboden. S vkus na kakvo shte stane. - A freebie. A taste of what's to come._

_Mnogo poveche, kogato tya idva ot. Imame li sdelka? - Plenty more where she has come from. Do we have a deal._

_Izbyagvane. - Deal_


	10. Afterwards

John stared at the little bundle in his arms, the beautiful newborn that took his breath away. She was only maybe a couple of hours old, but he could tell she would rule his life until the end of his days. The little, soft covering of fine brown hair sat on top of her head perfectly, and if she hadn't been asleep he'd have been staring into those bright, every-changing eyes of her father. The baby in his arms, the girl with no name, was going to be more like her father than they'd probably both realised, he could tell just by the look she had given him when he'd first picked her up out of her plastic, hospital-issue cot. A quick look over, a roll of her eyes and she went back to sleep. The exact reaction he could imagine Sherlock giving _his _father when he'd been born. Not that he was her father or anything, but, you know... Uncle John had a lovely ring to it, didn't it?

"Uncle John..." He whispered to her dozing form, glancing over at her mother with a silly smile on his face. She was currently propped up on her pillows, eyes closed. It had been, he'd been told, a relatively easy labour. To him that seemed a gross understatement by the doctor, and Faye had sworn blind that she was going to kick his arse for dismissing the worst ordeal of her life so breezily. Since then all she'd done is sleep, but the little girl was fussing and soon she'd need feeding.

"Are we hungry?" He asked quietly as she opened her bright, multi-coloured eyes to blink at him, "'Of course I am, Uncle John, you idiot.'" He replied in a baby voice that was _slightly_ too posh, "'But you'll have to wake mummy up'."

"Mummy is awake." Faye grumbled, "The pair of you shut up." John watched her gingerly roll onto her side, wincing in pain.

"I think she's hungry." John told her as Faye closed her eyes.

"Then feed her." She retorted and John frowned.

"I would but I don't have the... you know..."

"The nurse said there'd be some formula ready for her. Close the curtains on your way out." She told him before pulling the cover over her. Obviously going back to sleep, then. Not really knowing how to proceed, he did as she said. Holding the girl with no name in his arms, he left her little area and headed towards the doorway. Mycroft was outside and even he managed to let his lips tilt ever so slightly upwards. It wasn't pleasant, John hoped he wouldn't do it again.

"Little one's hungry." John offered, "Have you seen the nurse?" Mycroft frowned.

"Is she not breastfeeding?" John shrugged gently.

"I don't know what to tell you." John replied, "She won't look at her, hell, she won't even name her. She keeps insisting I have to come up with a name." Mycroft frowned, making John feel slightly less uncomfortable, and looked at his watch.

"Our darling niece has been alive for six hours and twelve minutes." Mycroft replied, "She could just be very tired." John nodded.

"It's a possibility." John agreed, however reluctantly.

"However, both you and me know Faye well enough to know it was going to be very black and white on this subject." Again, John nodded. A nurse walked passed and John reached out, halting her in her tracks.

"Hi, I'm looking for some formula. Her mother said that there'd be some ready for her." The nurse smiled pleasantly.

"Of course, what's the name?"

"Holmes." John offered and the nurse nodded, leaving the two alone again, "What do we do?" He asked Mycroft, "If we bring it up with her, she'll just flat-out deny anything's wrong."

_~0~0~0~_

"If you put it on me, I _will_ drop it on the floor." Faye swore venomously at the nurse who held her daughter, "Now, either give it to John or take it away, I don't care which but do not put it on me." John smiled aetiologically at the well-meaning nurse as he took the baby off her, who had just wanted to see if 'mummy' had wanted to feed her daughter.

"Mary..." The nurse began gently and John winced as Faye's face turned red and she glared furiously at her.

"My name is _Faye!_" She exclaimed, "And I don't want you near me or my daughter. Mycroft!" She yelled. A few moments later Mycroft appeared at his side.

"Perhaps it would be best for you to leave for now." He told the nurse with the air of authority John assumed he used on all his staff. The nurse, flustered and upset, readily agreed and scuttled off. The girl with no name in his arms had started crying at the shouting and John began to gently rock her.

"Faye, that was entirely unnecessary." Mycroft scolded and Faye glared at him next.

"No, that pathetic excuse of a nurse was unnecessary." She snapped back, "If she can't even listen to basic instructions she should not be in the medical profession." The other occupants of the ward, Mycroft still not able to procure her a private room without moving her and she refused to leave St Bart's, were all trying to watch the on-going argument.

"You are making a scene." He warned her and John had to congratulate him on his courage, because he was certain that if she could, Faye would have struck him down with fire.

"I don't care!" She screamed, before sighing, "John, will you just feed her? I can't stand that wailing anymore." He nodded, picking up the discarded bottle on the table and began gently coaxing the baby to feed. The fact that she had gone back to the child was obviously a sign she was calming down, because Mycroft sat down on the chair near the head of the bed.

"Have you thought of a name yet?" He asked her casually and she shook her head, leaning back on the bed, all the tension leaving her body.

"John has to decide." She declared and John shook his head.

"Oh no, I'm not naming her." He protested.

"You didn't like my name, so it's your turn." She replied.

"For the last time, Little Bastard Holmes is _not _an actual name." John insisted.

"It seems apt. After all, she is a bastard, and a Holmes." Mycroft replied, "And one cannot deny her size, given that she is barely a day old."

"It's still not a name!" John exclaimed, "What about... Caitlyn?" Faye shook her head.

"Nope." She replied simply.

"All right... What about Josephine? You could call her Jo?"

"I do not have a 90 year old baby." She snapped and he shrugged, a smile on his face as the little one continued to feed in his arms, "You'll just have to keep trying." He rolled his eyes, exasperated as they fell into silence once more. Then, Faye giggled to herself.

"If Sherlock was here, he'd suggest his own name." She stated with a wistful smile, "Sherlock Holmes Junior. He'd call her that even though it's a terrible boy's name, let alone a girl's name." John chuckled and even Mycroft cracked one of his, creepy, smiles.

"I think we can agree; Sherlock is off the table." Mycroft drawled and she nodded.

"Definitely." They fell into silence, then Mycroft stood up, stretching.

"If we're all calmed down, I do have a country to maintain." She smiled warmly and took his hand, placing a kiss on his knuckles. With a nod of his head to John, he left them alone. Seeing that she seemed to be in a better mood, he sat down where Mycroft had been.

"Would you like to feed her now?" He asked gently and her face hardened.

"Did you not hear me?" She snapped, "If you put it on me, I will drop it on the floor."

"Why?" He had to ask, despite knowing she would likely erupt in anger, "Is it because she has Sherlock's eyes?" She shook her head.

"Believe it or not, not everything has to do with Sherlock." She snapped, frustrated, "Do you know how many people were in that delivery room, John?" He opened his mouth, but she didn't let him answer, "Apart from me and Mycroft, there was four other people. Four other people staring, and prodding and poking and it by far was the worst thing I've ever been through, and that includes the pain I was in. And it's all because of _her_."

"It's perfectly natural, though." He reassured her and she shook her head.

"I don't care." She retorted, "I feel disgusting. My skin won't stop crawling, I just want to curl up and sleep. All these people just... _looking _at me. I feel defiled." She rubbed her arms, falling quiet and he saw how shaken up she was. He looked down at the little girl in his arms, who was coming to the end of her bottle.

"It might go away." He offered, "You'll forget, because look how beautiful she is." She glanced over, seeing the bright eyes staring up at her uncle.

"She is." She admitted, "But I can't have her. All them thoughts in my head... I don't want to hurt her." He smiled at her, glad she wasn't outright rejecting the baby. They could work from there, get her the help she needed to overcome her own personal barriers that she'd created in her mind.

"We'll get through this." He promised her, "You, me and... Mycroft, I suppose. He won't leave you now."

"I don't want to." She told him firmly, "I don't want her. I don't even want to name her because then she's real, and I don't want her to be. I want this all to be in my head."

"Well, unlike Mycroft, I'm not going to let you live in denial." He replied, before looking down at the girl in his arms, "No more hiding, for any of us. And we're going to start by naming this little girl."

"John..." He shook his head, cutting her off as he settled on a name.

"Bella." He stated, "Bella Holmes." Faye stared and he shrugged, "I know, I know. I heard it off that teenage vampire movie advert, but it's very pretty and she's... well, she's gorgeous." He blushed slightly as Faye smiled, her gaze never wavering from him. He seemed so content, so natural with a baby. Much more than she had felt at any rate.

"Okay." She agreed quietly, "Bella Holmes it is." But she never made a move to take her daughter from John.


	11. The Empty Hearse

_Some very extreme reactions to the last chapter. And Twilight hate, which I like XD_

_~0~0~0~_

Faye shifted again as she sat in Sher- the chair she'd chosen to sit in, nervous and looking so terrified that John reconsidered the entire exercise. Her hands clenched and unclenched on the armrests as she looked over again, wide-eyed at him and Bella.

"You don't have to do this." John reassured her calmly and she shook her head.

"But I kinda do, don't I?" She replied before taking a deep breath, "Okay, pass her here." He held the baby out to her, and she reached out before freezing, "You're not going anywhere, are you?" She asked desperately and he shook his head.

"I'll be right here." He promised.

"And if you think I'm going to hurt her..."

"I will stop you." He again promised before showing her how to hold Bella correctly, "Make sure you have her head, her neck's very fragile at the moment." He instructed and Faye was holding her baby for the first time since she'd been born two weeks ago.

Once the pair had been released from hospital, and John still had no idea how Mycroft had managed that one so quickly considered her behaviour there, Faye had stopped being so angry and lashing out, rather just was terrified of the tiny baby in her arms. Seeing that Faye wasn't exactly turning her daughter away and was, rather, frightened of herself with the baby, he'd moved the Moses basket into his bedroom and had taken over the role of new parent. He wasn't sure why he'd done it, most people would and had told him he was going above and beyond doing this for her, considering they weren't even dating and he wasn't Bella's father. He was inclined to agree, but, well... he loved babies, what else could he say? And it wasn't like he slept very well these days as it was. Every little thing she did, and there wasn't much because babies didn't do much, was astounding to him, and the last couple of days he'd seen Faye take more of an interest, watching him feed and fuss over her. Then, a couple of minutes ago, out of the blue, she'd asked if she could hold her. Of course she could, he'd replied, Bella was her daughter, not his.

"Hello, Bella." Faye said to the little girl in her arms, "My names Faye. I'm, well, I guess I'm your mum." She bit her lip nervously, "How are you?" She asked before cringing, "She asks as if you can reply, or in fact have any idea what I'm saying to you. God, I hope you have your father's brains, because I'm a moron."

"You're not a moron." John told her, "And it doesn't matter if she doesn't understand, she likes the sound of your voice." Faye looked down, letting out a shuddering breath before smiling as the girl seemed content to just lay there, blinking at her with huge, bright, always-changing eyes.

"I suppose she does." She agreed cautiously. The doorbell rang and Bella gurgled as if she was about to cry, "John!" Faye cried in panic but she settled back down straight away and John chuckled.

"She doesn't like the sound of the doorbell." He explained, "I'm guessing she gets that from you." Faye smiled again, almost proud that her child was as anti-social as both her parents.

"Hey, you can't just barge in..." Mrs Hudson's voice floated up, indignant as she followed the footsteps rushing up the stairs. John and Faye both looked at the door as it swung open and a panting Anderson was stood there. John's eyes narrowed and he stood up.

"Get out." He snapped harshly and Anderson shook his head.

"Just listen for two minutes." He begged, "There's been a drug's bust in Budapest..."

"And?" John snarled, "She's just had a baby, get out."

"She deserves to know!" Anderson cried as Mrs Hudson appeared.

"Sorry, John, he pushed right past me." The older woman explained apologetically.

"It's all right, Mrs Hudson." John replied firmly, before turning back to Anderson, ready to forcefully remove him if he had to, "There's nothing for her to know. You'll just upset her. Leave." Anderson, desperate for _someone_ to listen to him, turned to Faye.

"There was another, same set up, same outcome just west of the city. I think it's..."

"Sherlock?" She interrupted, "No, it wasn't. Mycroft told me about that, they'd been working on the cartel for years."

"He might be lying." Anderson tried and Faye tensed, a furious look on her face.

"What? You think Mycroft is lying to me?" She exclaimed, "After I'm just had a baby? His _brother's _baby? Do you really think he'd keep that from me?" In her arms, Bella began to fuss as Anderson looked sufficiently chagrined, "You've upset Mrs Hudson and you're upsetting my daughter. Get out." With his head bowed, he apologised and left, crestfallen. Mrs Hudson, smiling at the two and feeling very happy they still had each other, made her way back down to her own flat. John turned to Faye, a surprised but happy look on his face.

"So, you don't think Sherlock's out there somewhere anymore?" He asked her and she shook her head.

"Mycroft wouldn't allow me to give birth and not tell me if he knew his brother was alive." She admitted sadly, "But I'm keeping the coat." John held his hands up in surrender.

"That is absolutely fine." He told her as Bella began crying. Faye took a sharp inhale of breath, the terrified look, that had been replaced by the one of fierce protection at Anderson's intrusion, fell back on her face and she stared at John, wide-eyed.

"What's wrong?" She whimpered.

"She's probably hungry." He told her gently, "Do you want to feed her?" Faye shook her head wildly, holding Bella towards him as safely as she could.

"No." She insisted, "Take her off me, please." She begged and he nodded, softly scooping her back into his arms and Faye shot up from the chair, "I'm going for a walk. Want anything?" He shook his head as he headed to fetch a pre made bottle of formula for the crying bundle in his arms.

"You could always cook us something for tea." He prompted cheekily and she laughed, grabbing her coat and purse.

"You got it." And she rushed out. Outside, as always when he was worried about her, sat one of Mycroft's cars. She scrambled into the back and smiled at the woman sat there. Sally, a regular to sit and watch her when told.

"I want to go to the supermarket." She instruction, "Then, I want you to take me to Anderson's house and to not tell Mycroft." Sally shook her head, barely glancing up from her phone.

"Sorry, Mr Holmes' instructions are to keep him fully informed on where you go if you leave Baker Street." She rattled off.

"You won't tell him, or I will tell him what happened to the sixth glass in his antique Victorian sherry set." That caught Sally's attention and she looked up, worried.

"You wouldn't." Faye leant in closer, a smirk and a raised eyebrow,

"Wouldn't I?" She retorted, "Don't tell Mycroft, or I will." Sally sighed in resignation, nodding.

"Yes, Miss."

_~0~0~0~_

Anderson blinked in surprise and he opened his front door to see Faye stood there. Immediately he looked apologetic and his head bowed slightly. He hadn't thought about the fact the woman hadn't been out of hospital long, and with a newborn. He shouldn't have just burst in, he knew that. He just wanted _someone_ to listen to.

"I'm sorry about..."

"I think Mycroft's lying to me." She interrupted, contradicting her words from his flat an hour or so before, "I think Sherlock is alive, and I need help finding him." Dumbfounded by her u-turn, he stepped to the side and let her in.

"How long..."

"Oh, always." She replied quickly as she headed straight for his living room, "Sherlock wouldn't just jump of a building. And now all this stuff about Moriarty is coming out, I think this was his plan all along." She turned to face him, arms crossed, "What proof do you have?"

"Oh!" He jumped into action, leading her over to his collections on newspaper reports and printouts from online blogs, "There's descriptions of him all over Europe. This one, for example," He handed a transcript of an interview, "Is a young sex trafficking victim in Bulgaria, who was helped by a man in a long coat and a scarf to bring down a whole ring in one of the larger cities there." Faye nodded.

"I saw this in the Times, I think." She remarked, handing it back, "Little article. I find him more prevalent in the back of the papers." Anderson agreed with a nod.

"There's more of us." He explained to her, "Only five or six, but there's a blog going about it. The Empty Hearse." She grimaced at the name and he nodded, "I know, I didn't make it up. That was Jemma."

"And Jemma is..." Faye asked.

"The founder of the Empty Hearse. We met online." Anderson explained. Faye rolled her eyes, she had kind of figured she'd founded the little group. The Empty Hearse, though? It was a bit on the nose, wasn't it?

"And there's a blog?" She asked instead and he nodded.

"I'll show you." He dashed to his computer, eagerly opening up the website. Someone was finally listening to him, and Faye felt slightly sorry for him because he'd been screaming for so long and no one was paying attention. She leant over his shoulder, shooting him the kindest smile she could muster up.

_~0~0~0~_

"..._She held her, but the moment Bella needed feeding she ran away. I'm getting quite concerned now, what if she never comes around? I love this little girl, but I can't look after her forever._" John sighed tiredly, "_If you think something is really wrong, will you contact me? You know her better than anything, Mycroft."_ There was a pause, then the sound of John hanging up. Mycroft picked his mobile back up, turning off the hands free and placing it against his ear.

"I have always supported your foolish decisions, Sherlock." He said into the device, "But as I predicted, Miss Newbarns is not coping with your apparent suicide. Perhaps it is time to bring her in on your little secret." He hung up. Sherlock, once again, did not answer his phone call. Sherlock was no longer answering any communications, and as his older brother Mycroft was becoming increasingly concerned at the lack of news from his side. He knew he was just trying to scare Sherlock. Faye would come around, and pretty soon if he knew her well enough. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and he needed to know Sherlock was still alive.

Mummy was worrying.


	12. Meeting Mary

_Thank you all for being so incredibly beautiful to me. I hope you enjoy :)_

_~0~0~0~_

"... And Mrs Hudson has another monitor, so if you need her..." John was saying as he checked himself yet again in the mirror above the mantelpiece.

"I can call her." Faye finished, "Yes, I know, John. I'm not a child." He turned to look at her. He was really nervous about leaving her, but he also was looking forward to his first night out since before Bella was born. Faye had been getting better with her daughter; she may not have been cooing over her or even sleeping with her in the same room, but she wasn't bolting when she cried and she had begun to feed her occasionally. It was huge progress, and John had only agreed to go out with Greg because he knew she'd be okay.

"And she will want feeding." He warned her as there was a knock on the front door to their flat and it opened, revealing Lestrade.

"Please get him out of here." Faye begged the DI good-naturedly, "He's getting on my tits."

"Always knew he was aiming to get there." Lestrade replied and John rolled his eyes at the pair taking the piss out of him, although he was secretly quite pleased at how relaxed Faye seemed.

"Yes, yes." He muttered, heading quickly out of the door, "I'll be back about midnight." He called over his shoulder. Lestrade smiled at Faye.

"Eager munchkin, isn't he?" He asked and she shrugged.

"What can I say?" She replied with a smirk, "I'm just a joy to come home to." Lestrade laughed, leaving her as he followed John out the door. She quickly darted to the window, looking out onto the street to watch the pair head off towards the pub. A quick check on the content Bella in her Moses basket, blinking with her father's eyes as she batted vaguely in the direction of her space-themed mobile, and Faye was pulling out her mobile.

"All right, he's gone." She told the person on the other side, "You can come over now. Don't forget the food." And she hung up.

_~0~0~0~_

Lestrade placed the pint in front of his friend, who thanked him gratefully before taking a sip. John had really missed going out, it seemed. He hadn't expected to have been looking forward to leaving the flat _this_ much, but having some time to not be on edge constantly was a blessing.

"So, glad to not be playing daddy?" Lestrade asked, jokingly but bluntly.

"I don't mind it." John replied, "She's such a gorgeous little thing."

"Has her father's eyes." Lestrade interjected before taking a drink of his own. John nodded, that was what everyone said when they first saw her. It wasn't even just the colour, even at only a couple of months old they were just as expressive as Sherlock's.

"And Faye is getting better." He defended, "But, I can't say I was expecting to be a full-time parent to her."

"You're a good man, John." Lestrade told him, "Not many people would take on what you have."

"I know." John said, "But, I promised to look after her." He took a sip of his drink, nodding decisively, "I want to look after them both. They're my family now. But, tonight, I'm going to enjoy myself." Lestrade grinned joyfully.

"Good man." He retorted, patting him on the back and John laughed. He hadn't realised that maybe Lestrade had needed a night out as well.

_~0~0~0~_

Faye motioned the blonde-haired girl inside of the flat, checking the stairwell one more time before closing the door behind them.

"Take a seat." She offered with a smile and the woman nodded, heading over the small group and sitting on the end of the sofa. Anderson was in the middle, a young man next to him and an older woman on the desk chair next to him, "Would you like a drink?"

"No, thanks." The girl replied meekly, looking around the flat in awe. Faye nodded before standing in front of them.

"Thank you all for coming." She started, "I can't exactly leave the flat right now, but as soon as I can we'll meet at Anderson's house." She still couldn't break the habit of calling him by his last name. She might have joined forces with him, but she didn't actually like him, "So, welcome to the first meeting of The Empty Hearse." She headed into the kitchen, pulling her map of the world out and placed it upright on a chair from the dining table so it was displayed to the small group, "These are all the places I have reason to believe Sherlock has visited since he supposedly died. With some additions from Anderson, of course." He nodded, looking faintly proud to be of help, "Anyone else have anywhere to add to the web?"

"I do." The older woman, Heather who was roughly 50 from what Faye could gather, declared after a moment, "There was a small breakup of a Mafia family in Italy about a month ago." She reached into her reusable Marks and Spenser's bag and pulled out a pad, from which she presented a newspaper article, "It was in the back of the paper, but there isn't much detail." Faye took it off her and quickly scanned the article.

"Very good, Heather." She praised before placing a small cross onto the general area of Italy, "Must have still been in hospital." The woman smiled brightly, happy to be of help, "Okay, now, based on this spread of visits, what can we determine about his next destination?" They all turned to start at the map.

"I've got nothing." The blonde-haired woman, Jemma, replied and the others nodded in agreement.

"That's because there is no pattern." Faye retorted, "Sherlock doesn't work to anyone else's logic. Everything he is doing will seem like there is no connection, but there is. We just have to work out what."

_~0~0~0~_

She'd been staring at him for the past half an hour, on and off. She had short blonde hair and a loud laugh, and didn't seem like the sort of woman John would normally attract, but she really seemed to be attracted to him. John wasn't sure whether or not to approach her, but Lestrade had been goading him so he finished his drink and headed to the bar, standing next to her as he ordered his next pint. She was with a couple of female friends, but turned to face him as soon as he stood still.

"I'll have a white wine." She ordered from the barman and he poured her one, handing it over and ready to take her money. However, John waved it away and paid for both drinks, "Well, aren't you a gentleman?" She said with a thanks and he shrugged.

"Just being nice." He retorted. She laughed and he knew he stood a shot, because it wasn't a joke and she offered him a huge smile.

"Mary." She told him.

"John." He replied, "Nice to meet you."

_~0~0~0~_

Mycroft rolled his eyes as his mother continued to rant at him over the phone about his failings in his duties as 'older brother', and losing Sherlock somewhere along his 'trip' across Europe.

"_He could be anywhere!_" She exclaimed and he sighed.

"Yes, he could be." He answered, "That is what happens when one loses track on someone."

"_Mycroft Holmes!_" She scolded, "_He is a father now, you have to keep a better watch on him. Lord only knows what trouble he maybe in. I hope you're looking for him._"

"No, I shall just leave him to rot, should I?" He snapped before taking a sneaky drag of his cigarrette. He always needed a nicotine fix when dealing with his mother.

"_Don't take that tone of voice with me, Mycroft!_" She scolded, "_And you better not be smoking._" He, rather childishly, pulled his tongue out at the phone.

"Of course not, Mother." He drawled, "I wouldn't dare."

"_I should hope not._" She replied, "_It's a disgusting habit. How is Faye doing?_"

"She's fine." He replied, "Getting better every day. She's actually looking after the child on her own tonight for the first time."His mother tutted and he rolled his eyes again.

"_That 'child' is your niece, Mycroft._" As if he hadn't noticed, "_Please use her name. Bella is such a pretty one, after all. Sherlock needs to know what he's missing, pretending to be dead._"

"I'm sure he's devastated."

_~0~0~0~_

Well, that had been a waste of her time, Faye decided as she let Anderson out. She sighed, frustrated, as Bella began to fuss behind her. Probably needed changing. She walked over, using the handles of the Moses basket to pick her up, swaying it gently from side to side to try and soothe her.

"Oh, be quiet." She snapped gently, not really meaning it as she headed to the bedroom. She had placed the baby monitor in there so Mrs Hudson couldn't hear the little meeting that had just taken place. She switched the light on, placing the basket on the bed as she let the baby cry for a few moments, so Mrs Hudson didn't think it was too suspicious that she immediately responded, "It's okay, Mrs Hudson, she just needs changing!" She said into the monitor before switching it off so the woman wouldn't have to listen to the baby crying.

"Actually, I would say she is hungry." A smug voice drawled from behind her and she gasped in fright, spinning around, ready to protect her daughter from the intruder. Instead, she dropped the monitor, all her breath leaving her lungs at the sight of the curly-haired man stood in the corner, scarf around his neck and hands in his pockets.


	13. The Return

_I'm not young, I turn 25 on Tuesday. But here's an update anyway :P_

_~0~0~0~_

Faye stood, frozen in place, not even being able to reach behind her and grab Bella like she wanted to. Her first overwhelming instinct was to save her daughter from whoever this person was and run out screaming for John. Who wasn't even there. _Great_, she was on her own with a baby and some arsehole had broken into her room. Because, despite her searching and collecting, her desperate and basic need for him to not have jumped, there was no way Sherlock was actually alive. It was absurd, he wouldn't have just left her to fall back into her own head, let her go through him _dying_. There was no way.

"Who the fuck are you?" She asked shakily and he rolled his eyes, stepping once towards her. She found her feet, stepping back into the bed, the Moses basket jabbing her in the back.

"Don't ask stupid questions, Mary." He retorted, "They don't become you." He looked around, eyebrow cocked critically as he looked over thei- _her_ room. Her room. There was no 'their'. Sherlock was dead and Bella still slept with John, "I don't appreciate the changes you've made to my room, but if it's going to be your room too then I think I can cope." Faye just stared at him, her brain seemingly having frozen as she gaped at him. Then she reached down to her jeans pocket, groping for her phone. Which was in the living room, on the coffee table. She cursed loudly, startling him as she turned around, scooped up her daughter and practically ran into the other room. The man followed her, keeping away from the windows, she noticed, as she tried to calm Bella whilst dialling.

"What are you doing?" He asked her, concerned.

"Calling John." She snapped, "You're either not real or some crazy guy who had broken into our flat, and either way I want him here."

"No!" He cried, alarmed, holding his hands out in surrender, "You can't ring John."

"Watch me." She snarled.

"Please, Mary." He pleaded. Well, pleaded as much as Sherlock ever could. Which wasn't much, the man had too much pride. But he wasn't Sherlock.

"Faye, dear?" Mrs Hudson asked with a knock, the man diving around the corner as she entered the flat, just out of her vision as she took in the screaming baby and the wide-eyed, panicking mother, "Aww, are you feeling a bit overwhelmed, dear?" Faye's mouth opened and closed, nothing coming out and Mrs Hudson smiled warmly, holding her arms out, "Do you want me to take her for a little bit? Maybe feed her?" Faye glanced over at the man, who nodded his head once. If it was Sherlock, if he _really_ was there, then she needed to sort this out now. And if it wasn't, if it was a crazy man or, as she was more inclined to believe at this point, a figment of her own imagination, then she had to get Bella safe. So she smiled gratefully and passed her gently to Mrs Hudson.

"Thank you so much. I just..." She trailed off, faking being upset and Mrs Hudson shook her head.

"It's quite all right. You've done well tonight. I've got formula, I'll settle her in the cot John brought down and you come get her when you're ready." Then the landlady walked out, cooing like a grandmother. Faye watched her go down the stairs then shut the door quietly. She walked over to the windows and closed the curtains, not wanting anyone to glance up and see her arguing with what could potentially be herself then turned to the man stood in her kitchen.

"I don't believe that you're here." She stated freely, "This isn't the first time I've seen Sherlock since he died."

"I don't doubt it. If you're prone to hallucinating about your childhood self, then your dead boyfriend isn't too much of a stretch." He replied and she narrowed her eyes.

"Don't get all condescending with me, you pompous arsehole." She scolded, "Why should I even believe you're here at all?"

"If you believe it or not is irrelevant." He dismissed, "I'm here to tell you to stop your little club searching for me." Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

"I'm sorry?" She asked, "_That_ is why you're here?"

"If any details that may pertain to my whereabouts are leaked to anyone then my entire safety and the delicate work I've put into dismantling Moriarty's crime web will be compromised." He explained as his phone began ringing in his pocket, "You seem the be the ringleader these days, you have to throw them off the track."

"You son of a..." She rolled her eyes as he made no move to answer the increasingly annoying phone, "Are you going to get that?"

"No, it's just Mycroft." He dismissed and she laughed harshly.

"Oh, of course. Mycroft knows, I knew it. Who else?" She demanded.

"It's not important-"

"Yes it is!" She shouted angrily, "I want to know every single person who knows that you faked your death. Every single person that you deemed more important than me, every person that you hold above me despite the fact you claimed you loved me. I want to know who has been looking at me, watching me fall apart without you, knowing that you were okay!" He sighed, obviously annoyed at her emotional outburst, which made her even more mind-numbingly furious. How dare he act like that towards her, as if she was doing him some terrible disservice!

"Well, Mycroft, obviously." He started, "My mother and father." Well, that explained why they weren't at the funeral, "Most of my Homeless Network." Great, a group of random people knew when she hadn't, "And Molly." Her mouth dropped slightly, a physical shot of pain searing in her chest at the sudden overwhelming betrayal she felt.

"Molly knows?" She whispered and he nodded. They stood in a thick, tense silence as she mused it over. That was why Molly had suddenly become so friendly. Not because she was missing Sherlock, but because she had felt guilty.

"Honestly, I was expecting a much more welcoming return." He remarked. Her eyes narrowed.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She snapped sarcastically, "Let me make it up to you." The couple of strides over to him were his only warning before her fist connected with the side of his face. There was a satisfying crunch, although she wasn't sure if it was his face or her fist that made it but his head flew to one side. She pulled back, ready to punch him again when he grabbed her hand, holding it firmly in place. He then wiped the trickle of blood off his face, his lip bust from the impact and she felt a sickening sense of triumph at physically hurting him.

"That was unnecessary." He commented and she lunged for him again, this time not hitting him, but going for his coat pocket. She pulled out his phone, holding it aloft in victory, "What are you doing?" He cried, alarmed.

"Let's see what Mycroft has to say about this." She snarled, pressing the on button to turn the screen on. She froze again as the home screen was displayed, the image of a sleeping baby dominating the screen, "That's..." She swallowed, "That's Bella."

"Yes, it is." He reluctantly admitted. She looked up at him, stunned into silence, then down at the phone again. That was a picture of their daughter, asleep on pink blankets. So, it wasn't at Baker Street because she had all white and yellow stuff in the flat. And it was recent, as well. She could tell just by looking at her it was only in the last week or so. So it wasn't at the hospital either.

"This is at Mycroft's." She stated and he nodded.

"He sends me updates." Sherlock explained.

"Why?" She asked immediately and he sighed, shifting uncomfortably on the spot, not responding, "_Why_, Sherlock?"

"Because I asked him to." He muttered, having wanted to hide that little piece of information from her. He couldn't have her start to forgive him, or sympathise. He had to make her hate him, so she would stop looking for him and start looking after herself and Bella. However, he also _really_ didn't want to be punched again. For such a lean woman, she had quite the left hook.

"You asked him..." She trailed off, looking down at the phone again, "This is why you're here, isn't it? Nothing to do with being found out, you just wanted to see your daughter."

"You need to stop blaming yourself." He told her, stepping forward. She winced, tears in her eyes. This was too much. He was alive, how was he alive?

"I didn't stop you." She whimpered, "She didn't have a dad, and it was because of me. How could I ever me a good mum if I can't even be a competent girlfriend?" He reached out, cupping her face with one hand. She leant into his hand and, like he had done so many times over the last year, he thought about how he'd made her cry. How many times had she cried because she thought he was dead? She'd broken so completely on his empty grave, each gut wrenching sob had tore through him and he never forgot it. Everything he'd done had been driven by the fact that one day he had the chance to stop her crying.

"I spent so many hours trying to make you smile." He murmured sadly, "And because of me, you never smiled again."

"Why are you doing this to me?" She sobbed and he rested his forehead on hers, forcing her to look up imploringly into his eyes.

"I thought that having a goal would be enough to keep me away from you." He replied huskily, "I was sorely mistaken. I can't live without you, Mary. Not again." He leant down, her lips too tantalisingly close to resist. She shook her head, quietly begging him stop, moving her head away from him.

"Sherlock, please. Don't." She whimpered pathetically. He missed his target a couple of times, the absent of the connection cold on his lips until he finally captured her mouth with his. He gently coaxed her to react, burying his hands in her hair and gripping hard to stop her moving away. Tentatively, her lips began to move against his and soon she was pressing herself against him, grasping onto his shirt tightly as he crashed into the kitchen table.


	14. A Slight Tease

_I hope this chapter is okay. I just write until I reach the end and then post it. Let me know, reviews are like my lifeline :P_

_Not really, but I do bloody love them :)_

_~0~0~0~_

Faye sat up, pulling the cover around her as she dangled her feet over the side of the bed. Sherlock was lying next to her, also completely naked, watching her intently. He had been able to tell instantly how self-conscious she had been, obviously worried about how he'd see her now she'd been pregnant. It was going to be tough to get her out of that, just like when they'd first started sleeping together. The first time he'd managed to convince her to not cover his large mirror had lead to an absolute mind blowing night of sex. He'd have to get it put back up again.

"You should leave." Faye muttered and he nodded, sitting up.

"John will be back soon." He agreed, reaching over and wrapping his arms around her waist. His lips trailed over her shoulder, "Half an hour, maybe." She shook her head, shrugging him off.

"No, I mean, you should leave." She said more firmly, "Now. Get out." She stood up and started scooping her clothes off the floor.

"You're still angry." Sherlock declared and she spun around, pulling her t-shirt over her head.

"Yes, I'm still bloody angry!" She snapped, "Sherlock, you made me believe you were _dead!_"

"And now you know I'm not." He pointed out, joining her in getting dressed. They obviously weren't going to be having any more sex, more's the pity. He did rather enjoy it.

"Why couldn't I have known from the start?" She snapped, "Why let me think you'd left me forever when you were just going to pop back up again?"

"It was safer for you to think so. Moriarty's men would be watching both you and John for any signs of my death being a fake. Any sign that you were hiding something and they would have attacked you. Your grief had to be believable."

"Believable?" She screamed, "Nothing about this is believable, Sherlock! _You_ are unbelievable!"

"You're the one who just fucked me." He retorted smugly and immediately regretted it as her fist connected with his face again.

"Get the fuck out of my flat."

"Actually, this is mine and John's flat." He replied and she shook her head.

"Not anymore. You lost ownership when you died!"

"Then why haven't you redecorated?" He asked, "Is it because you don't want to lose any part of me you have left? The same reason you have been searching for me and have my coat underneath your bed?" He grabbed her, pulling her against him again, both in just their tops and underwear, "You wanted me back from the dead, you wanted me lying with you, why are you fighting this?"

"Because you made me think everything was okay!" She replied, pushing him off her, "I was starting to feel okay again, and you ripped that away from me! I didn't just lose the love of my life, Sherlock! You took Mary with you." He sighed, shaking his head.

"I don't know what you want from me." He told her sadly.

"I want you not to be dead." She whimpered, "I want you to not have jumped off that building. I want you not to have lied to me."

"I thought you were dead for two decades and I forgave you." He reminded her.

"Yes, but I never once chose for you to believe that. If I had known I wouldn't have gone gallivanting across Europe while you sat at home, mourning me." She wiped her eyes, "If it was just me, this wouldn't be an issue. I could be as self-destructive as I like. But I can't let you hurt Bella."

"She's only a baby. I doubt she has any notion of what has happened over the last year." Sherlock scoffed.

"Maybe not." She conceded, "But what about when she's older? I can't trust you not to pull this stupid stunt again, and I won't have you breaking her heart like you did mine." His eyes widened at her logical argument. He glanced around, trying to form his own argument in his favour.

"I promise, Mary." He begged, "I'll never leave you again."

"You already promised me that." She replied, "Please, just leave Sherlock. I won't tell John, or anyone. He's been a superb surrogate father while I've been unable to be a proper mother, he doesn't deserve your betrayal." He reached out, tilting her chin and kissing her desperately. She replied, unable to resist his soft lips pressed against hers.

"Please, I can't do this without you." He whispered, heartbroken. This wasn't right. She was supposed to be happy, she was supposed to smile. Why was she rejecting him?

"You already did." She whispered back, "Please, just leave me alone Sherlock."

"Tell me you still love me." He demanded and she shook her head.

"Please, Sherlock." She begged.

"Just, tell me."

"I love you." She whispered and her lips tugged, just like they had done on the phone just before he jumped off St Bart's. He pressed his forehead against hers.

"I love you too." They stood in each others arms, both devastated, then Faye made the move first, stepping back.

"I'm going to go get Bella." She told him shakily, "Please be gone when I get back." He closed his eyes in pain, he had wanted to hold his daughter. But, he nodded.

"Of course." She nodded once, stalling for a moment before turning and leaving him stood there on his own.

_~0~0~0~_

John half-staggered into Baker Street, because while he'd had a few he wasn't by any means drunk. Nope. He was just tipsy. He chuckled to himself, even as he tripped over a carrier bag of rubbish that Faye had obviously put outside the front door to take down to the wheelie bins the next morning. Tipsy was quite a funny word. What wasn't funny was the phone number his new friend Mary had put in his phone. He had a _date_. Well, rather the promise of a date but it was a start. He entered to see Faye sat on the sofa, Bella in her arms as she held the feeding baby to her chest. She looked up, a large grin on her face even as she seemed to be crying. John's heart almost burst at her voluntarily looking after her daughter.

"Guess who got a date?" He slurred out, pulling a confused face afterwards because he couldn't understand why he was slurring in the first place.

"You?" Faye asked with a giggle.

"How did you know?" He asked amazed and she stood up, halfway between crying and laughing at his behaviour and walked over. She leant up, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"Well done John. You deserve it." He nodded.

"I do." He replied proudly, "Her name is Mary too, you know?"

"Is it?" Faye asked, moving the bottle as Bella finished her food. She adjusted her to her shoulder.

"It really is." John leant closer to her ear, "She's really pretty." Faye pulled an exagerated offended face.

"What, and I'm not?" She exclaimed.

"No, no, you are. You're very, very pretty." He turned to place a kiss on Bella's head, "And so are you. Bella. Bella, Bella, Bella." He began repeating her name until Faye placed a kiss on his cheek.

"I think you should go to bed." She commanded gently and he nodded, reaching over to take Bella.

"Okay dokey. Come on my princess." Faye shook her head, keeping a grip on her daughter.

"No, it's fine. You go up, I'll put her down." He beamed at her.

"Good for you." He cheered before stumbling to the stairs up to his bedroom.

"John?" She called after him and he looked down at her, seeing she was still crying.

"Yesh?" She smiled at him, her eyes glistening.

"Thank you." She told him, "And I'm so sorry." His brows furrowed and he swayed on the spot.

"What for?" She shrugged.

"Everything." She whispered sadly. He seemed to study her for a moment, realising that for some reason she needed his forgiveness. He held a hand aloft.

"You are forgiven." He declared regally before swaying slightly. Deciding to head to bed, he turned and left the two in the front room.

_~0~0~0~_

Another restless night saw Mycroft heading to his study, fully dressed in his work clothes. Working internationally always threw his sleeping patterns and he wasn't quite on UK time just yet. He had to drop into Faye's in the morning, like he'd promised his mother just that evening before having a nap to try and sort himself out. He was still quite concerned about her, so he was considering offering a week at his home for her, and of course the child.

Had he been an ordinary man, he would have jumped in fright when he spotted Sherlock sat in his desk chair as he turned on the lights. Instead, being Mycroft Holmes and never truly surprised by his brother's actions, he just raised an eyebrow at his brother's choice of seat.

"I take it you went to see Miss Newbarns this evening?" He asked, "And that your presence behind my desk means she did not take it as you might have been expecting?" Knowing that Sherlock wasn't going to move, but not giving him the pleasure of acknowledging it, he headed over to his books, casually scanning them as if that had been his intention all along.

"She was not as overjoyed as I had been expecting." Sherlock admitted, "We had sex, then she threw me out. It's quite unfortunate." Mycroft paused mid-reach, trying to suppress his anger at the talk of his friend and his brother having sex. But, he knew Sherlock was just trying to rile him up, and if he was honest, he had missed that.

"She was never going to welcome you back with open arms, Sherlock." He tutted instead.

"I see that now." Sherlock agreed, "No matter, I give her a week and she'll come to see you about my whereabouts. By then I shall be back from Minsk, so it should turn out quite nicely." Mycroft turned to face him, not convinced at all by his dismissal.

"If that were truly the case, then why are you sitting in my favourite chair?" He almost winced; too much information, Mycroft. That was a rookie mistake.

"I want you to help convince her to see me when I get back."

"That would be foolish of me, at best." He retorted, "Why would I incriminate myself to help your love life?"

"Don't worry about that, Mycroft." Sherlock replied with a sickly smug grin, "I already did that for you." Mycroft pursed his lips together.

"You told her I knew?" He asked lowly and Sherlock jumped up off the seat.

"She asked, I told." He retorted, "I'm sure your _favourite_ seat can comfort you in your hour of need, however I must dash. Planes to catch, I'm sure you understand, brother dear." He headed towards the door, "Oh, you must pass my love to mother and father when you see them next."

"It's your turn." Mycroft stated angrily and Sherlock shot him a smirk.

"I'm dead. It's always your turn now." And he left Mycroft standing in the middle of his study, fuming.


	15. Missing You

Mycroft was concerned, which didn't happen very often but when it did it took over his entire day. He'd gone to see Faye, when Dr Watson wasn't there so she could talk about Sherlock without having to reveal the fact he was alive to her friend. However, she had just smiled warmly like she always did, except this time with a baby in her arms. She hadn't ranted or raved about Sherlock's deceit, or his own for that matter. She hadn't even seemed angry. It was very troubling because she was very emotional most of the time and to see her flat out ignoring something was not a good sign. He had casually asked John about her behaviour when he'd met the man on the way out of Baker Street, but John had just shrugged. She hadn't been angry, or acting out. She had suddenly taken the role of mother to her daughter very seriously, but as he couldn't remember what she had been like when he'd gotten home that night, he wasn't sure why. All he knew was when he had woken up, the cot had been moved back down into her bedroom and she had just gotten on with it. Not that he was complaining, but he had no explanation.

Truth was, John was more concerned than he'd let on. The sudden u-turn in her behaviour was deeply troubling, as was the memory of her crying that night. Then he'd tripped over her bag of rubbish on the way out that morning, and after having a natural nosy had found all her 'Sherlock' stuff. All the pieces of newspaper which she had claimed had Sherlock written all over them. He'd picked her notepad out, flipping through it and finding himself choking up at the sight of Sherlock's handwriting in the front documenting the ways he wanted to try and make Faye happy. The only thing missing was the coat replica. He took the bag to the wheelie bin, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to chuck it away. He'd placed it back into the hallway, then had gone on with his business. After talking to Mycroft he'd taken it upstairs, determined to confront her about it. She was stood at the window, Bella tucked in her arms.

"_And tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded, __a__nd that heaven is overrated?_" She sang gently to her daughter, "_Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star? One without a permanent scar? And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?_" She glanced behind her and smiled softly at John, "She's just drifted off now." He smiled back and she turned to her daughter, "She's just so precious, isn't she?" She whispered, just staring for a moment before taking her to their bedroom, lying her down and making sure that the monitor was switched on. She was only in the next room, but she liked to make doubly sure she wasn't missing anything.

"It's nice to see you two bonding." He told her honestly, "She really seems to like you singing." Faye smiled, sitting down in Sherlock's old chair, another mood that worried him. She only sat there when she was deeply upset, but the smile on her face contradicted that.

"Apparently babies like to hear their mother's voices because they're eyesight isn't fully developed. I'm surprised that she even knows who I am." John sighed, sitting in front of her in his own chair, bag in hand.

"So I found this outside the door." He lifted the bag by the handles, "It seems to be all your Sherlock stuff." She shrugged, suddenly looking uncomfortable at being caught out.

"Don't need it anymore." She offered as an explanation. John stared at her expectantly, but when no further comments came he sighed.

"Why not?" He asked pointedly and she shrugged again.

"I just realised that maybe I didn't fail him as much as I think I did." She replied, staring just to the side of John, not being able to meet his eye because she refused to tell him the truth, but hated lying to him, "I... Maybe he didn't jump because of me, maybe he did it out of his own choice. And so I don't need to find him for my daughter, because she's better off without that in her life. She's too good for it." John continued to frown as she sniffed and wiped her eyes.

"Did you find something?" He asked, "Like, a suicide note?" She shook her head.

"No, nothing like that." She promised, "I realised that the only way I could move forward was to choose between Sherlock and Bella. And I chose Bella. I can't do both, and that's just it, really." She nodded at the bag, "That isn't healthy, _Sherlock_ isn't healthy. So I'm keeping a few things of his for Bella, so she has something from her father, and I'm getting rid of the rest. It's time we all started to move on." He looked down at the carrier bag, it seeming very final all of a sudden. If Faye was really moving on, maybe he should too. He'd woken up feeling terribly guilty for enjoying himself, and not just because of the faint hangover he had received from all the alcohol he'd drank compared to the last couple of months or so. He'd felt guilty because he'd gone out and had a good time, while Sherlock would never go out again. He'd felt guilty about leaving Faye on her own with Bella, even though she was her own daughter, because he'd promised Sherlock he would look after them when he couldn't and he felt like he'd failed that as well. But Faye didn't see it like that, in fact leaving her on her own had seemed to bring on some sort of epiphany maybe the two of them needed.

"I have a date." He declared and Faye grinned a cheeky smile.

"Oh, that was actually true, was it?" She teased and he narrowed his eyes in annoyance.

"Yes, it was true." He retorted.

"Is her name still Mary?" She continued to tease, "And is she still prettier than me?" He shook his head.

"No, nothing like that." He quickly protested, "But yeah, she's still Mary, and she is very, very good looking."

"With or without the beer goggles Lestrade put on you?" She asked, "You'll have to bring her over, see if I _approve_. After all, I am the Queen of Marys." He rolled his eyes, standing up.

"Oh, piss off." He snapped and she giggled, watching him head into the kitchen.

"You shouldn't be swearing at royalty." She pointed out, "You should be trying to curry favour with me by fetching my generous servings of PG Tips with cakes of all kinds on the side." He sighed, but switched the kettle on all the same.

"Anything else, Your Majesty?" He retorted sarcastically.

"Yeah, lend me your laptop." She replied, "I want to look up your Mary friend on the internet." She didn't wait, instead headed to the desk and scooped it up, taking it back to Sherlock's old chair and settling down in it, "What's her last name?"

"I'm not telling you." He called over, "I'm not having you spy on her."

"Do you not know it?" Faye replied, "Going out with a girl and you don't even know her full name? You're a regular tart, John Watson."

"Morstan. Mary Morstan, you happy?" She grinned to herself, opening the lid to the computer.

"Muchly."

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock looked down at his phone again, seemingly abandoned at his side on the bed. He was sat in a dingy hotel room, still in Minsk because his plans had taken longer than expected to complete. The local police had decided to stick their nose into his business, pushing everything back by roughly a week. He was getting the 11.24am plane back home, under a fake name and with fake ID, obviously, but that wasn't even crossing his mind at that particular moment. There was no missed calls off Mycroft, or any off Mary. It had been a week more than he'd anticipated, she should have called him by now. He was actually starting to worry she wouldn't forgive him.

That thought caused his chest to ache, the idea of her not welcoming him back had never occurred to him. He had thought that once he'd explained his reasons, she'd instantly forgive him. After all, his actions were logical. Maybe he should have told her about the snipers at each of their heads. He hadn't because it really bothered him in a way he didn't quite know what to do with. He understood it when there had actually been the threat of her being shot. Worry over another human being, specifically Mary, was not foreign to him. True, it never ruled his head as much as it seemed to with her, but he did care for a select few and so it wasn't an issue. However, just more than a year after the threat had gone, it still bothered him deeply. He'd dream about finding her dead, in the recent months she was joined with their daughter, the child being either dead or alive, it could go either way.

He picked it up, ready to dial her number, before chucking it on the bed again with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. He had to wait for her to make the first move, otherwise he'd just prologue this agony more and more.

And, when she'd said she still loved him, she'd smiled. That special smile, that one just for him. He'd longed for it, and seeing it again after so long, even if it was under such heartbreaking circumstances, had reaffirmed his belief that she would take him back.


	16. Mary and John

_I feel like I'm neglecting Faye. I'm really trying not to, but I didn't know where to take her. I've got an outline of a plan now, so I hope I can start updating a bit more. Thanks for sticking with me, I must be very frustrating :)_

_~0~0~0~_

Faye cheered, clapping excitedly as Bella rolled onto her stomach, gurgling happily to herself. She had only recently starting doing it, and the books said to make sure to give her lots of praise so she'd be encouraged to do it again. Apparently it was the first step on the road to her becoming mobile. Faye wasn't sure if she liked the idea of her baby being able to move, and more importantly being able to move _away_ from her grasp, but the books said to encourage her so that's what she did.

"Well done!" She cooed as Bella sort of flailed on the floor, wiggling her arms and legs but basically doing nothing else. And it wasn't the floor she was on, technically. It was a long, dark grey coat. Sherlock's coat. She had liked keeping Bella near the coat so she would have something of her fathers. Now Bella loved lying on it, but Faye really wanted to get rid of it. She wanted to chuck it out of the window, or burn it, or cut it into shreds.

It had been months since Sherlock had turned up in her bedroom, alive and kicking and his old, sarcastic, dismissive self. Faye had spent hours, days even, going over the encounter again and again in detail. Every single moment, burned into her memory. First she had been angry, and then for a few weeks she fell into a lovely denial where she still tried to help Anderson and his Empty Hearse find their missing 'leader'. She sighed, picking up her daughter and holding her vertically as if she was standing up on her legs. How she wished she was back there. Bella blinked her gorgeous, mystical eyes in wonder at her mother and Faye smiled warmly.

"Do you like that?" She asked happily, "Standing up like a big girl? Soon you'll be dancing around this room with your mummy, won't you?" She leant forward and kissed her on the forehead, causing Bella to gurn and grumble angrily.

"She doesn't seem too pleased with that idea." Faye glanced around and saw John's Mary, his new girlfriend, stood there smiling at the pair. Faye nodded slowly, looking back at her with a knowing look.

"Ah, don't like public displays of affection. Just like your dad." She stood up, cradling her daughter on her hip and taking a hold of her hand as she went to grab the strap of her tank top. She had a habit of trying to pull it down to show the world what was underneath, "Cup of tea?" She offered and Mary shook her head.

"No, John said he'll only be a minute. We're going to see Les Mis." Mary explained before holding her arms out, "I will, however, have a hold of this cutie while you make yourself one."

"Oh, thanks!" Faye smiled gratefully as she handed Bella to Mary, "I'm dying for a cuppa." She headed into the kitchen, a proud feeling washing over her as Mary cooed over her daughter.

"Oh, you are just gorgeous." Mary told the girl on her hip, who seemed more interested in her necklace than anything she was saying, "John, we should take her with us." Faye glanced behind her, and sure enough there was John coming in, doing up the top button on his shirt. He placed a kiss on Mary's cheek.

"She'd just cry throughout the show. Only singing she likes is her mother's." He replied, before placing a kiss on the short brown hair covering Bella's head. Mousey brown, like her mother's, but with the hint of curls from her father. He smoothed it down as he walked over to the mirror above the mantelpiece, "You should have heard her when Faye put on some Micheal Bublé. Poor Mrs Hudson thought she'd fallen off something."

"I told you about Bublé." Faye pointed out as she headed back into the living room with her tea, "But, if you want, I'll happily take both your places at Les Mis and you can stay home with the baby."

"You should come next time." Mary told her and Faye shook her head, setting her tea down before taking Bella back.

"Oh no, I'm not becoming the pity friend. Just because the man I love is dead doesn't mean I'm going to start high-jacking other people's dates." She replied, bouncing her daughter. It was bed time soon, and Bella was already starting to get into her 'go away, I want to sleep' mood. Love of sleep, that was off her mother, her father hated it with a passion.

"I'm sure we can look after her one night." John offered as a solution and Faye nodded.

"Be my guest. But, for now, shoo. She's got to go to sleep before Have I Got News for You starts." John chuckled, placing another kiss on Bella's head as he headed towards his date.

"Don't listen to her, Bella." He told the girl, "If you need anything..." He started and Faye rolled her eyes.

"I know, I know, give you a call. Get out of here, Watson." She retorted. He sighed with a shake of his head and a tug of his lips before leading Mary out.

Faye changed Bella into her pyjamas before giving her a long cuddle. She loved hugging her most of the time. Sometimes she still felt a bit anxious, and she still had some days where John would have to take Bella for walks. But, for the most part, she was okay. She placed the drowsy girl into her cot, stroking her hair gently.

"_The power of love, A force from above. Cleaning my soul._" She sang gently, focusing everything on her daughter ad Frankie Goes to Hollywood, "_Flame on burn desire. Love with tongues of fire. Purge the soul. Make love your goal._" She smiled lovingly again before checking the monitor and leaving the room, turning the light off and leaving her daughter to drift off herself. She pretty much did, she loved to sleep. She had asked her health visitor, who had just told her to count her lucky stars because some babies never liked to sleep at all, never mind as much as Bella did. Nothing was wrong with her, turned out she was just lazy.

Faye flopped onto her chair, her cup of tea now at a perfect temperature to drink. She glanced at the floor where Sherlock's jacket still laid. She then pointedly looked away from it. She wasn't going to waste anymore time thinking of that selfish man. She still hadn't told John about his visit, and she never would either. A couple of times she felt the need to confront Mycroft, but ultimately what use would that be? It wasn't a good plan, so she kept it to herself.

Gods, she missed him. Having him back in her arms, if only for a hour or so, was like giving a hungry man a bite of a sandwich and taking the rest away. He had been like a breath of fresh air. Her world had both restarted and crumbled still at the revelation that he was okay. She wanted to phone him, tell him to come back and forgive her. But she had nothing to feel guilty for, right?

She glanced towards her bedroom. Maybe she did. Maybe she would have offered him the chance to meet his daughter. He had obviously wanted to, she could tell. But she had told him to leave before she'd come back to the flat with Bella. Because Bella couldn't lose her father like she had lost her other half. She wouldn't let her daughter go through that.

Having yet again convinced herself she had done the right thing, she turned the television on, sipping the tea and going back to her night, ignoring the stabbing pain in her chest that once again it was without Sherlock.

_~0~0~0~_

John sighed in frustration as he and Mary entered the flat after their evening was over. Mary was spending the night, much to John's delight, but as he switched the light on the sight of Faye curled up in Sherlock's chair once again worried him. Mary spotted her as well and frowned in concern.

"Is she still not going to bed?" She whispered and John shook his head. Around the same time she had decided to take being a mother in her stride, the same night he'd met Mary funnily enough, she had stopped going to sleep in her own bed. At first he thought that maybe she was unable to sleep in the same room as Bella but now it seemed more than that. It was like she couldn't sleep in Sherlock's bed anymore. He had suggested getting a new one but that had resulted in a giant fight where she'd taken Bella to Mycroft's for three days.

"I don't know what to do." He admitted. Mycroft seemed at a loss as well, but John suspected he had more of an insight into her behaviour than maybe he was letting on. He would normally have suggested something by now, maybe getting her some help, or at least setting up an appointment with a therapist, but he hadn't so far. It was like he was apologising for something by letting her get away with falling into another unhealthy habit. Perhaps he should have mentioned her searching for Sherlock after all.

Mary took his hand, linking her fingers through his and turning him away from the other woman. She smirked suggestively at him.

"How about we go to bed?" She muttered pointedly, "She'll be fine for one more night." He blinked, swallowing in anticipation and nodded eagerly. Mary chuckled and led him upstairs.

_~0~0~0~_

Faye had told John she was going to see Molly, but the truth was she hadn't seen the woman for quite a while. She couldn't bring herself to spend time with the pathologist anymore, but also had to keep up the pretence she wasn't furiously angry with her. Instead she was just wandering the streets of London, debating whether or not to actually go see her. She needed to, really, or she might start to get suspicious. They could go out for lunch, let Molly go on believing her secret was safe until the time came when she could bring it up.

Then again, she could always get into the black government car that pulled up beside her. It had been a while since she'd been so happy to see one of Mycroft's cars. She dived it, pulling the door closed and fastening her seatbelt.

"So, office or hou..." She trailed off as the car started back on it's journey, staring with a startling sense of dread at the man next to her, "I don't know you." He turned, smirked sickeningly and shook his head.

"No, Miss Newbarns, I don't believe you do."


	17. Demands

_I had to get David Tennant in here somewhere._

_~0~0~0~_

The car drove off before Faye could do anything about it, like jump out and scream to high heaven. Instead of rattling the door handle in panic and begging to be let out, like she desperately wanted to, she just put her seatbelt on and leant back in the chair.

"So, who are you then?" She asked, "Because you don't work for Mycroft. I would know, he introduces me to any staff I may come into contact with." The man nodded.

"Quite right, Miss Newbarns. My boss is in an entirely different line of work to Mr Holmes." He explained, "He is quite keen to meet with you."

"There must have been a better way than kidnapping me in broad daylight." She pointed out, "How far away is he? I have to get home to my daughter."

"I'm sure you're daughter will be fine with Dr Watson." The man purred, "That comes with your cooperation, naturally." Faye stiffened, her skin prickling. She knew the unspoken threat in those words and she turned to him, eyes blazing.

"Are you seriously threatening a baby?" She asked sharply, "Because if you want _anything_ from me, do not bring my daughter into this." She crossed her arms and settled into the seat, ending the conversation until they pulled to a stop, only maybe ten minutes away from where they'd stolen her from. At her confused look, the man chuckled.

"Why walk when you can be driven?" He offered, unbuckling himself and opening the door, "This way, Miss Newbarns." Not having any other option, Faye climbed out of the car and frowned at the warehouse they were in front of. Reminded of what John told her of his first meeting with Mycroft, she followed the man into the space. Her eyes glanced around at all the workers stacking and packing items into boxes, or loading them into large vans. It seemed like a normal storage warehouse, shipping stock out to the companies that have bought it. She was lead to an office at the far end and the man opened the door, making sure she went in first. Behind the desk was a rather tall, skinny man with black hair and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. He looked up, smiling in his own attempt at a friendly smile.

"Ah, Miss Newbarns. I'm glad you could make it." He told her, placing his pen down on his desk.

"It's not like I had much of a choice." She replied, "Where am I?" He stood up, motioning to the wall lazily.

"Our warehouse, did Simon not explain?" He looked pointedly at the man who had kidnapped her.

"He didn't even tell me his name was Simon." She replied, "Or who, indeed, you are." He walked around the desk, leaning on the front of the desk, looking slightly disapproving at his little minion. It was a look she'd seen on Mycroft's face when dealing with his own and it was slightly disconcerting.

"I do apologise." He replied smoothly, "I'm Sebastian Moran, welcome to my little home." He smirked smugly and she nodded.

"Okay, Mr Moran." She started, "Let me make one thing clear. I have no idea who you are, or why you want me, but I do not take kindly to anyone threatening my daughter." He frowned, obviously surprised and displeased by this.

"Who threatened your daughter?" He asked and she nodded behind her.

"Your friend Simon here." She snapped, "I'm afraid it's got my back up. No one threatens my daughter."

"Quite right as well." He replied, standing up straight, "Apologise, Simon." He demanded, surprising her slightly.

"But, sir..." Simon began in defence and Sebastian's face contorted in pure fury at being defied.

"Apologise!" He screamed. Faye took a step back and Simon nodded, terrified of his boss.

"Of course." He stuttered before nodding his head at Faye, "My apologies, Miss Newbarns." Unsure of how to react, she just shot him a queasy smile. The anger dropped of Sebastian's face and he smiled at his minion once more.

"Well done, Simon. Off you pop." More than keen to leave the room, Simon all but bolted out, shutting the door behind him. Sebastian tutted sadly.

"Is it too much to ask for some manners from these people?" He mused out loud before motioning to the chair facing the desk, "Have a seat, Miss Newbarns." She shook her head.

"No, thanks." She added as an afterthought, making sure to keep up her manners, "I still don't know why you've brought me here." He reached behind him, picking up a black plastic folder and flicking through it casually.

"Oh, I need to speak with you about Sherlock Holmes." Faye physically cringed at the mention of the name. Great, some nut case Sherlock pissed off.

"Look, I'm sorry at whatever Sherlock did to you. But he's dead, I don't see how I can help make it better." She replied.

"He's not done anything to me. Well, not yet anyway." He replied, "I want to know where he is." She frowned. What did he want with Sherlock? He couldn't know he was alive, so what exactly did he want with his grave?

"His grave was plastered all over the papers." She replied slowly, "I can take you, if you like, but I don't see what good it would do." Sebastian shook his head with a chuckle, stopping on a particular page.

"It says here that you joined an online community searching for Sherlock Holmes." He stated lightly. She nodded slowly, now really concerned over what was in that folder. If he knew what she was up to, did he know Sherlock came to visit her?

"I did." She replied, forcing herself to not shake or stutter. Now was not the time. This man wanted Sherlock, that could never be good and she had to make sure he thought he was dead, "He's the father of my child. I'd give anything for him to be alive again, and if you've read the newspapers you know it's not too far-fetched for me to search for a dead man."

"I did think of that." He told her, snapping the folder closed with an audible slap, "However, one of my men also found a substantial stash of newspaper clippings in your garbage that made me believe otherwise."

"You've been going through my rubbish?" She exclaimed and he looked slightly embarrassed at being caught.

"Guilty as charged, I'm afraid. Must keep an eye out on the enemy, I'm sure you understand. Sherlock Holmes caused the death of a good friend of mine, I intend to make him pay for that. So, all I need from you is his location." She rolled her eyes.

"He's dead." She told him firmly, "There is no making him pay. I don't know what you're on about." He stood up and, without warning, struck her with the back of his hands. She yelled in surprise and pain, stumbling to the side as it rung through the office.

"I may not threaten children, but you my dear are fair game." He snarled, all charm disappearing, "My _good friend,_ Jim Moriarty, died because of Sherlock Holmes. I know you know where he is. Tell me."

"He's dead!" She shouted back, holding her cheek with one hand, "Deal with it, because I've had to!" He slapped her again.

"Tell me!" He screamed as the door flew open. They both turned to see Mycroft stood there, leaning casually on his cane. Sebastian smirked angrily, obvious pissed off that he had been found out.

"Mr Moran, we meet again." Mycroft drawled as he stepped into the room. Faye felt like crying in relief at the sight of him, but held her ground, staring indifferently between the two.

"Mr Holmes." Was all Sebastian said as two men came in, cuffing him. He went without fuss, turning on his way out of the office to look at Faye, "My apologies, Miss Newbarns. Next time I won't be as violent."

"Next time?" She asked Mycroft as they headed out of the building. There were agents everywhere, searching the warehouse as others kept the workers under guard.

"He knows, as I suspect, that we won't find anything here." Mycroft explained as he lead her to his own car, one that she had thought she'd been climbing into to begin with. He held the back door open for her, as Mrs Holmes brought him up correctly, then climbed in after her, "What did he want?" He asked lightly. She faced forward as the car began to pull away.

"Can I stay at yours?" She asked in reply. He nodded, not surprised as he glanced to the side. Her cheek was glowing an angry red, it would most definitely bruise. Nothing showed, his anger was carefully filed away for a later date, most probably when he next confronted Sebastian Moran, but his hand tightened slightly on his cane.

"Of course." He replied, "We can pick up your daughter and head over straight away." She shook her head.

"I think I'll ask John to look after her tonight." She told him, "It's been a while, but I'm sure he'll understand." Her fingers danced on her cheek, "He won't mind." She was trying to convince herself, he could tell. He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face so he could get a better look at her cheek. He didn't need to look at it, but the show of concern would undoubtedly make her feel better.

"You'll be fine." He replied, letting her face drop, "Just a bruise, nothing more."

"I know." She whispered.

_~0~0~0~_

Faye headed into the kitchen of Baker Street, the sound of the television filling the flat. John smiled at the sound of her returning, Bella sat on his knee as they watched In The Night Garden.

"Hey, thought you'd gotten lost." He teased, scooping the little girl into his arms as he stood up. He tickled her belly, making her giggle, "I've got to go..." He frowned, stopping as he saw her bent over the table, both hands placed firmly on the wooden top as she shook with tears, "Hey, what's wrong?" He asked. She looked up at him and he shifted Bella, going into 'doctor' mode the moment he saw her cheek, "What happened to you?" He demanded.

"A friend of Moriarty. I... Oh, John." She sobbed, "Why did he have to die?" He pulled her in for a hug as Bella gurned in annoyance at being trapped between the pair. He rubbed her back, letting her cry until she looked up, smiling and placing a kiss on Bella's head.

"Can you look after her tonight?" She asked timidly, "I want to go to Mycroft's. I need a night on my own, please?" He nodded.

"Of course." He reassured her, "Is he waiting?" She nodded, placing another kiss on Bella's head, running her hand through her tuft of hair.

"No one will ever hurt you." She promised the little girl before kissing John on the cheek, "I'll be back tomorrow." He waved his free hand.

"Whenever you're ready." He told her. She headed out and he pulled out his phone, dialling Mary and placing it to his ear, "Hey, something's happened to Faye." He told her.

"_Is she okay?_" Mary asked and he was touched by her concern for his friend. A smile fell on his face despite his worry.

"She just needs some time." He told her, "I'm looking after Bella. Fancy a night in instead of going to Fargo's?"

"_Babysitting and you're sneaking in a date?_" She teased, "_I think I can squeeze you in._"

_~0~0~0~_

Faye climbed back into Mycroft's car. He didn't comment on how long she took, just gave the order to head to his home and they sat there in silence.

"I want to see Sherlock." She stated, actually managing to startle him slightly. She looked out of the corner of her eye coolly at him, "I assume you can arrange that." That was it. No anger at the fact he had known all along that Sherlock was alive. No tears, no accusations. Just the demand that he bring Sherlock to her. On one hand he was relieved, after all he hated it when she was angry with him. Seeing her in tears because of what he had done with Moriarty still haunted him. But she _should_ have been devastated, but she just looked determined. He nodded once.

"I can." He replied, pulling out his mobile.


	18. Ain't That Mister Mister

It took three days for Sherlock to reappear from wherever he'd been hiding. Faye had felt awful about leaving Bella with John for so long and had called him up to see if he wanted her to send someone to fetch her daughter. John had been torn, wanting time with his girlfriend but not wanting to seem like he wasn't happy to look after Bella. He'd thanked her for the offer when she'd heard Mary protesting loudly in the background. Apparently Mary overheard him trying to politely decline and was having no one take her new best friend away from her. Also, apparently, Mary thought of a six month old as her best friend. So Bella stayed with Uncle John and Faye stayed with Uncle Mycroft.

As far as places to relax go, Mycroft's house rated highly. She spent her days in his library, or walking around the carefully manicured garden. He'd had a small, secluded area installed for her when he'd first moved in. A small opening surrounded by trees with a bench inside it, she spent most of her time in their, reading or listening to music and singing to herself. She really enjoyed being away from the real world, forgetting about being a mother and being kidnapped for a while, living alone in her not-so-secret garden.

Of course, it didn't last very long. She woke up in the middle of her enormous bed, her cover chucked off her sometime during the night, to see Sherlock sat watching her, wearing a dark green shirt and his fingers steepled in thought. She stared at him for a moment before sitting up, running her hand through her hair.

"I can't deal with you, yet." She declared before yawning, "You weren't supposed to come until lunch."

"It is lunch." He retorted, "It's 11.43." She picked up her phone to see it turn to 11.44.

"Okay, I'll give you that." She muttered, "But still, I can't deal with you until I have eaten something." He sighed in annoyance and stood up.

"Very well." And then he was gone, slipping out the door with a flourish. If he had been wearing his coat, it would have blown up around him like a cape. She rolled her eyes at him, always the bloody show-off. She paused with her legs over the edge of the bed. That was the first time that she'd casually thought about him as if he wasn't dead in longer than she could remember. She had refused to allow herself to think about him since he'd turned up alive and well, having been so angry that she'd fallen straight back into life with him dead rather than having to face up with him being alive.

She bit back a sob, because he was _alive. _He was back, he was _here_ and she could talk to him, and shout at him, and hug him and he'd come back to her. Sherlock was alive.

She pulled her lounge pants on, slipped her slippers onto her feet and glanced at her reflection in the window before heading out. Her cheek was still bruised from her run-in with Moran, and if she had been more awake she'd have made a better effort to hide it. However, she wasn't, and so she shuffled to the dining room, hoping that it wasn't too late for bacon and eggs.

_~0~0~0~_

Sherlock waited patiently with her as she made her was through what he considered a gigantic plate of pork and egg. She barely looked at him, and didn't say a word as she scoffed down the food in front of her. He shifted slightly, this was wasting time. Time they could spend together, because when he'd first entered her room that morning he'd forgotten she only slept in a shirt. His mind had flown back to his bedroom, where he recalled in vivid detail some of their more... adult exploits. The quicker she started shouting at him, the quicker it would be for them to fall into bed together and he could finally enjoy being with the woman he loved.

"I've still not forgiven you." She stated suddenly, fork just by her lips and he shrugged.

"Naturally." He drawled, because this was inevitable but he also knew it wouldn't last very long. She would forgive him, because she was deeply and irreversibly in love with him too.

She shot him a slightly bewildered look, because she had been expecting more of a protest to that statement, before munching on the last of her bacon.

"And we're not having sex." She continued and he let out a snort of derision, shaking his head.

"If you say so." He retorted and her eyes narrowed as she placed her fork down.

"You think we will?" She challenged and he nodded.

"You can't resist me any more than I can resist the way you lick your lips when you're abut to rant at me for doing something stupid." She paused, her tip of her tongue poised on her bottom lip. She hadn't even realised she did that. He smirked, leaning forward, across the table, "Or the way that your spine curves when you stretch, or the way your eyes burn into mine as you pant my name..."

"Stop it." She snapped, pushing her chair back with a scrape and standing up, "You can't expect me to just fall back into bed with you, Sherlock. You lied to me, you made me grieve over you. We're not having sex. I have not forgiven you." He rolled his eyes.

"Then why am I here?" He challenged.

"Because it was for nothing." She snapped, "People still believe that you're actually alive. If you're serious about staying 'dead', you need to fix it. So when you go off..." She waved her hands, "gallivanting around Europe, you're going to have to be more careful."

"I didn't know you cared." He replied mockingly, realising his mistake as she shot up out of her seat, slamming her hands on the table. She leant over, eyes burning with fury and he was actually slightly startled.

"I'm not burying you again." She hissed venomously, "Do you understand that? I _cannot_ do that again, Sherlock."

"Once is quite enough, isn't it?" He retorted and she jabbed him in the chest painfully.

"_I _didn't know, Sherlock. That's the difference." She snapped, "You will not die on me again. No again, do you hear me?" He was alarmed to see the angry tears glistening in her eyes as she refused outright to start crying. He sat up straighter, this wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't suppose to be crying again. He didn't know what to do with a crying woman. In the past, before he'd jumped, he used to comfort her by taking her to bed and helping her forget by lavishing attention on her. Even he knew that at the moment that was off the table, so he quickly flashed through his mind, looking for anything and everything that had made her happy.

He stood up, walked around the table and gently, but firmly, took her hands off the table. She fought against him, yanking her wrists out of his grasp but he responded by wrapping his arms around her, pulling her against his chest.

"Let me go..." She cried. He ignored her, dipping his head so his lips were by her ear. One of his first memories of Faye had immediately sprung to mind, back when he hadn't even thought she might be Mary. He'd followed her to work, and she'd never seemed so happy, so comfortable with herself.

"_Your lipstick stains,_" He muttered quietly, "_on the front lobe of my left side brains. I knew I wouldn't forget you. And so I went and let you blow my mind._" Faye stilled in his arms, listening to him half-sing the lyrics to one of her favourite songs. A song she didn't even know he knew existed, he'd never been one for popular music.

"How do you even know that?" She whispered.

"It was the first song I heard you sing at work." He explained, "It's your favourite. You work it into every set you possibly can. You used to hum it while making me cups of tea you knew I'd never drink. I gather you have been singing to our daughter, and I would bet that is the song you sing above all else."

"Every night." She breathed out with a hitch. His fingers traced up her side, feather-light touches as they moved to her arm, over her shoulder and up her neck. His finger tucked under her chin and he tilted her face up so he could stare into her beautiful, brown eyes.

"I love you." He stated so sincerely that it happened. Her lips twitched and the first sign of that smile, that special smile just for him was coming back. It wasn't there yet, but he saw it breaking through.

"Oh, Sherlock..." She whispered, and before she could start crying, he bent his head down and placed his lips against hers.


	19. Uncle Mycroft's Day Out

_Thank you all for your lovely words. Hope you like this one :)_

_~0~0~0~_

Today was Uncle Mycroft's day. John had looked after Bella for a week before Sherlock was forced to leave again, breaking the pair out of their little bubble and Mary headed back home, falling seamlessly back into Faye's life and relieving Uncle John of his babysitting duties. Bella had, apparently, started to crawl whilst Faye had been away, but when placed on the floor all she did was pull herself along slightly on her stomach before whining to be picked up again. Faye had held her close, placed a kiss on her head, and told her that she was happy to wait until Bella was ready. Bella had been very content in her mother's arms, leaning against her shoulder as she stared at her Uncle John as if he was the most fascinating thing in her world and that would just not do at all. Mycroft walked over, scooped Bella out of her mother's arms and held her against his hip.

"Perhaps it would be wise for me to take her for the day." He drawled, "Allow you time to settle back into regular life before looking after her once more." Faye blinked in surprise and even John turned on his chair, away from his jobs search to look at the the ostentatious man, eyebrow raised.

"I... I think I can handle her just fine, Mycroft." Faye replied, too stunned to be offended by his apparent lack of faith in her parenting ability.

"I shall return her this evening." Was his reply, heading towards the door, holding the baby as loosely as he possibly could without dropping her.

"Wait!" She called, chasing after him as he made his way down the stairs, "You'll need a car seat, and a buggy."

"I have everything required in the car." He called back up to her and she frowned. No he didn't, she would have noticed if there'd been a car seat.

"Where?" She shouted after him as he opened the front door.

"In the boot, where else?" He replied before the door swung shut and she was left at the top of the stairs, eyes wide in confusion. She headed back into the flat, hands held out at her sides in disbelief at what had just occurred. She looked at John, who seemed just as lost as she was.

"Did he want to spend time with her, but just couldn't come out and say it?" He asked her, looking for an explanation.

"I think you made him jealous." She replied, sitting down in front of the television, once again glad she'd moved it so she could see it whilst in Sherlock's chair. Her lips turned up slightly, _Sherlock's _chair, "You're Bella's favourite uncle, after all."

"Wait, so he's looking after her because of me?" John asked and she nodded. He laughed, turning back to his laptop as Faye turned the television on, switching to a Top Gear repeat on Dave, "That is, by far, the best thing I have heard all day." Faye giggled and they fell into a comfortable silence, until Faye drifted off in Sherlock's chair, dreaming of the man who'd not let her sleep.

_~0~0~0~_

And so, Mycroft ended up with babysitting duties, even though no one asked him to. His driver had strapped the baby car seat into the chair next to him and Mycroft placed Bella in it. She looked around the interior, intrigued by the new room she was in. She didn't cry, because she was used to Uncle Mycroft, but she wasn't going to settle like he hoped she would. She would have been easier to look after if she had been asleep. He turned to his helper for the day, Anthea, who was busy on her phone, as always.

"What does one do with a child?" He asked her. She glanced up and seemed genuinely surprised at the sight of the baby girl next to her employer.

"No idea, sir." She replied, going back to her phone once she'd deemed the child uninteresting, "I don't like children." He rolled his eyes.

"Helpful, Anthea, as always." He muttered before tilting his head to look into the little girl's glowing eyes. She gurgled at him happily, as if she was saying something of worth and he reached out and smoothed her brown hair down, "Apparently Dr Watson cannot keep you in a reasonable state of dress." He wrinkled his nose at the white t-shirt and dungaree's she was in. She looked like a farmer. He'd have to do something about that, but first he had to keep her entertained.

"My sister says she takes her kids to the zoo." Anthea declared, looking up from her phone, looking like she wasn't sure if it was a valid suggestion or not, "Kids are supposed to like animals?" He frowned in thought, looking over his niece.

"Seems appropriate, considering her attire." He decided. Anthea shrugged and sent the command to the driver to head towards London Zoo.

_~0~0~0~_

Considering the mass of children in uniform, running circles around their teachers, the Zoo didn't seem to be too busy. Still, Mycroft felt foolish walking around, pushing a baby up to fences as if she cared what they were looking at. Eventually, after lifting her up so she could see and putting her back down one too many times, he sent Anthea back to the car with the buggy and carried her the rest of the way. He received a few strange looks, a rather grand looking man carrying a farmer's baby around the Zoo and telling her factoids about the animals that she would never be able to understand.

He had, at one point, accidentally walked into the 'petting zoo' area, but when confronted by a harmless worker had declared he wasn't about to let his niece be subjected to the variety of germs on the fur of a goat, then turned on his heals and left the woman gaping at him.

"This was one of my less successful plans, I will admit." He told the little girl in his arms, who was currently memorised by the meerkats behind the glass she was clumsily clinging to. He couldn't leave so quickly, though. He had a reputation to create, he was her only blood-related Uncle and he wasn't about to be shown up by John Watson, who had already spent too much time with his niece, "However, I have something much more time worthy planned for us after this, little one." He turned back to the enclosure in time to see a meerkat shoot up on it's hind legs too close to the edge of a hill, tumbling down it. He rolled his eyes, too bored to contemplate staying there any longer, when Bella laughed. Surprised, he looked down at the little girl in his arms who was laughing in delight at the antics of the mammals in front of her.

"Did you like that?" He asked her, amazed as she turned to look up at him, flashing him a beaming smile, revealing the first of her teeth that had come through. Pure joy radiated from her, blazing eyes as she stared up at her Uncle in delight. He felt the corners of his mouth tug and he shifted her in his arms, "A meerkat fan, are we?" He drawled, "Let's see... They are immune to the venom of snakes and scorpions, choosing instead to eat them as part of their diet..."

_~0~0~0~_

Faye looked up from her book at the front door opened and Mycroft entered the flat, carrying her daughter in his arms. She placed the book down on the table and stood up, smiling in slight confusion at the new outfit Bella seemed to be sporting. A gorgeous deep burgundy dress with a white blouse underneath, white tights and little black shoes. There was a red flower pinned in her short brown hair and she was gurgling excitedly as she reached out towards her mum.

"You changed her." She declared in surprise as she took her daughter off him. Mycroft shrugged as his driver fetched the six shopping bags in and placed them at the foot of the sofa, "And went shopping?"

"I felt she needed something less rural to wear." He replied as John entered the room in a shirt and smart pants, ready for his night out with Mary.

"There was nothing wrong with what she was wearing." He replied lightly, smiling at the girl and placing a kiss on her head, "But she looks beautiful." Faye nodded in agreement.

"Did you have fun with Uncle Mycroft?" She asked and Bella gurgled happily a few times, "What did you two do?"

"Nothing of importance." Mycroft explained, placing an awkward kiss on his niece's head, "I know mother would like to see her granddaughter soon. Shall I tell her Wednesday is a convenient time to come visiting?"

"She can come whenever she likes." Faye replied, "I'm not up to much, it'll be nice to see her again." He nodded.

"Very well." He shot a patronising look in John's direction, "Dr Watson." He said as a farewell, leaving the trio in their flat and driving off into the evening. John spotted the bags on the floor and nodded to them pointedly.

"What's that?" He asked and Faye shifted Bella, sitting on the sofa with her daughter on her knees.

"No idea." She replied, "Have a look." John quickly headed over, opening one of the large paper carrier bags.

"This one is full of dresses." He told her, pulling out a white one with flowers on it, checking the label, "It's a size too big as well. He's been planning ahead." He grumbled, "What's wrong with how I dress her?"

"Nothing." Faye reassured with a laugh, "You know how Mycroft is. If she'd been a boy, she'd be in a suit by now." He nodded, agreeing but not liking it, and checked the next bag.

"This one's all shoes." He told her, pulling a third bag towards him, "What the hell?" He whispered in confusion.

"What?" Faye asked, intrigued by his sudden change in mood. John reached in and pulled out a stuffed meerkat toy, roughly half the size of Bella, "Aww, that's cute." Bella immediately reached out for it, making clumsy grasping motions as she gurgled. John passed it to her.

"I'm not sure..." He replied, pulling out another one, smaller this time. Then another, until he was surrounded by seven more of them.

"What the hell?" Faye laughed out in disbelief, looking down at her daughter, who was bouncing the meerkat rather roughly, "What has Uncle Mycroft bought you?"

_~0~0~0~_

Mycroft's phone vibrated whilst being driven to his home, and he reached into his jacket pocket to find a text off Faye.

_Meerkats?_

He smirked, replying with a one word text message of his own.

_Naturally_.

A few moments later a rather large smirk appeared on his face as she replied once more. He settled into the back of the chair, relaxing slightly as he shot a glance at the empty baby seat next to him. His driver would have to remove that once they'd stopped, he considered momentarily while congratulating himself on being the newly appointed 'Favourite Uncle'.

_She loves them :) Thank you x_


End file.
